


Emerald

by MissWia



Series: 366 Days of Writing [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Gen, Homosexuality, Horror, Incest, Light Erotica, M/M, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Underage - Freeform, dark themes, gender fluid characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 27,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWia/pseuds/MissWia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tick-tock goes the clock, counting down their time.<br/>Tick-tock goes the clock, their stories are told on the chime.</p><p>Month Four of my 366 Days of Writing Series. Tags will be added as needed. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fili/Bilbo pt.1

Fili thought it would be a good break from him, moving to the country. He wasn’t built for city life, no matter how much his brother claimed otherwise. Unlike Kili, the constant activity and noise drained him and left him feeling hollow and ill at ease. He promised the young, dark haired man that he would visit at least every other weekend. Kili made him promise every Friday. He just smiled and gave his brother an affectionate, if not slightly painful, head butt and drove away in his packed car.

Hobbiton was a quiet little village with quaint little houses and full of people that knew everyone’s name and business. Fili instantly felt at home when he stepped out of his car. He smiled and waved at those that stopped to stare at him, hoping to start off on the right foot. No doubt newcomers to this town were few and far between. He would hate to make the wrong impression, especially since he planned to stay for awhile yet.

He didn’t meet many of the residents those first few weeks. He was so busy with unpacking his car and setting up his new home just the way that he liked it that he didn’t really have time. He wanted everything to be perfect.

The little brick house with the green door was situated on Bag End Road and Underhill Drive. It was a prime location, being only a few blocks away from the center of town but also a short walk and hop to the forests and wild hills that surrounded that village. And the selling price had been low, almost alarmingly so. At first he thought there was something wrong with it. Rusted pipes, crumbling interior, faulty heating, anything. The inspections came back clear though and any unease he had was quickly settled. He signed the papers with glee and set his moving date.

His first night there had been a bit odd. It was unsettling, sleeping in a new place by yourself. All night he could have sworn he heard footsteps walking down the hall, but each time he got up to check there had been nothing there.

“It’s an old house,” he reasoned, slipping back into his bed. “It’s just settling down for the night.”

He didn't let it bother him, despite hearing the same footsteps every night after.

A week later was when the doors began to act funny. He would shut one, only for it to swing open as soon as he stepped away. He would shut it again, firmly and making sure he heard the click of the knob setting into place, but as soon as he was a foot away it would open once more.

“Drafts, I guess. Bombur can come and have a look.”

Like the footsteps at night he ignored it.

The whispers were harder to explain away.

They happened at random. Sometimes when he was taking tea, other times when he was watching a movie. Soft, insistent little noises that had him looking behind his shoulder and checking to see who was there. No one ever was.

Two weeks after he moved in he felt the sudden urge to get out. He took advantage of the feeling and explored his new town. He spent all day visiting the sights, happily conversing with those that stopped him to ask about who he was and where he was from. By the time supper came around he had convinced himself that he was being silly and all the fuss he was having in with his new house was simply because he was not used to being alone. With that positive outlook he decided to have his evening meal at the local pub, not quite ready to return home.

“Evenin’,” he greeted the barkeep, sitting himself at the counter. “Your finest brew and something hot to eat, if you please.”

The man, older and round in the stomach with golden curls, nodded and began preparing his order.

“Haven’t see you around here before. What’s your business in Hobbiton,” the man asked, a pleasant smile on his face.

“I’ve just recently moved here. I decided the city life wasn’t for me,” Fili replied.

“Always glad to have new faces in our little town,” the man said, placing his beer on the counter and offering his hand. “Gaffer Gamgee. I own this pub and run the garden store down the road with my old lady.”

Fili shook his hand, glad to make a new acquaintance.

“Fili Durin. I just bought the stone house on Bag End and Underhill.”

The pleasant hum of background noise that filled the pub fell abruptly and the patrons turned to stare. Fili looked around, unsure of the sudden change.

“Anything the matter?”

Gaffer coughed suddenly and waved his hands. It seemed to be a gesture recognized by the rest in the pub, who reluctantly turned back to their business. The warm mood, though, was gone.

“Nothing, nothing. Just an odd little house, isn’t it?”

Gaffer’s words were spoken quickly, too quickly to be the truth.

“I guess,” Fili hesitantly answered. “I’m not used to these old homes, where the floors creak and drafts keep blowing the doors opened. But I imagine I’ll adjust soon enough.”

He saw something shine in Gaffer’s eyes that he didn't like.

“Yes,” the old man spoke, a strangeness in his voice. “These old houses make you feel all sorts of odd things.”

Fili suddenly had the urge to leave the conversation, not at all comfortable with how the man was acting.

“So, how about that hot meal?”

Gaffer nodded and hurried to get what he asked. When he returned Fili made a show of focusing on his food, hoping to be spared from further conversation. He finished his meal in record time, and quickly slapped down some money to cover his bill.

Just as he got to the door, Gaffer called out to him.

“Mr. Durin!”

Fili reluctantly turned. The old man watched his with sad eyes.

“If you ever feel that that house is too much, please don’t hesitate to come find me. The missus and I would be more than happy to give you a safe space to sleep.”

Put off by the odd, and slightly ominous offer, Fili could only nod before exiting the pub. He felt the eyes of all the patrons following him as he left.

He hurried home, having no desire to speak with any other stranger that night. He had enough of them, thank you very much.

The sight of his little cottage was a welcome one, until he noticed something out of place.

The green door, which he had shut and locked before leaving, was wide open. And in the doorway was a man with short and curly blond hair.


	2. Fili/Bilbo Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man was like a shadow cast on the wall. Not solid, but visible nonetheless.

Fili felt his heart begin to beat frantically in his chest and his breath soon matched. The man was faced away from him, stopped frozen in his front hall. He was dressed in pants, a button up white shirt, and suspenders. His feet were bare and there was an oddness to his body. Almost like a shadow, not quite solid but there nonetheless.

Fili cautiously approached his home, ready to fight this intruder off if need be.

“Hey! What are you doing,” he demanded.

The man, for lack of better word, squeaked and turned around. Fili caught his startled gaze before his disappeared without a trace. Stunned, the young man could only stare in shock at the now empty spot in his home. He blinked, blinked again, then one more time for good measure.  He was gone, like a candle that had been blown out by a strong wind. There one moment and absent the next.

His heart still raced in his chest, though for an entirely different reason now. Fili had never been an overly superstitious man. He knocked on wood when chancing something and made a point not to walk under ladders when faced with them. However, the idea of ghosts and the like he put no real credit in. They were stories you told at night to scare your little brother, nothing more. And yet he just saw a man vanish right before his eyes. What other explanation was there?

Fili slept in his car that night.

The next morning, with enough sleep in his system and the courage of daylight, he returned to his house.

Everything was just as he left it the day before. The knitted blanket Ori gave him was thrown over the back of his sofa and the light by the window was still on. Cautiously he entered further, tiptoeing through his own home like a burglar on the prowl. Nothing was out of place. He let himself relax, just a bit.

“I drank that beer too quickly, last night,” he muttered to himself, trying to find some logical explanation to what had happened. “Yes. And I’m sure I remember him jumping into the bushes, not vanishing. That must be it.”

It was a pretty lie, but one he couldn’t make himself truly believe.

He tried to continue with his life as he had before, but suddenly things were in a whole new light.

Every creak of the floor boards he now realized was too evenly timed to be a random occurrence. Doors opening on their own were done with a deliberate force, too strong for a draft. At night, when the whispers began, he was no able to make out actual words and sometimes even sentences. After a week of this madness, he finally had enough.

He walked down to the pub with a single minded determinedness. Gaffer saw him enter, and with a quick word to the man he was talking to, faced him.

“Tell me about the man in the house,” Fili demanded.

Gaffer sighed and nodded his head.

He quickly filled to steins with fresh beer and passed one to Fili.

“The house you bought was built by Bungo Baggins as a wedding gift to his wife, Belladonna. They had one son, named Bilbo.”

The whole story took most of the evening and when Fili finally returned home it was with a sadness that wasn’t there before.

He walked to his living room and stopped in the middle.

“I know you’re there,” he called out softly and looked around. “Please, won’t you come out.”

At first he thought his request was going to be ignored, but then, like the curtains at a magic show, he appeared. Bilbo Baggins, the former owner of Bag End, Fili’s new home.

“I’m sorry,” the man said with an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to frighten you the other night.”

Fili brushed off his apology.

“I should be the apologizing. I imagine it can’t be fun to have a strange suddenly move into your home and act like he owns the place.”

Bilbo chuckled.

“Technically, I’m the stranger here. Bag End is in your name now. I’m just a supernatural squatter.”

Fili smiled. Gaffer had told him Bilbo had had a wonderful sense of humor. He could see it.

For a moment they stood there in awkward silence, neither knowing exactly how to converse with the other. Bilbo was the one who eventually broke the silence.

“Did Gaffer tell you about me?”

Fili nodded.

“And what do you think?”

“I think you deserved better. Murdered in your own home by a lunatic isn’t something I would wish on my worst enemy.”

Bilbo smiled sadly and shrugged his shoulder.

“I’m not angry, not anymore. Smeagol was a sick man, tormented by demons and his own thoughts. My mother had always been kind to him, so he took her death very poorly. He became obsessed with her wedding ring, convinced she left it for him to find. When I refused to give it to him, he got angry.”

It was just as Gaffer had told him. Smeagol had always been a bit of an outcast in the village. He had been a strange child that grew up into a strange. No one, however, thought he was capable of murder though. They were wrong.

“So what now?”

Bilbo asked, startling Fili from his thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“Will you leave? Living with a ghost can’t be your ideal situation.”

Fili hadn’t honestly thought about it. When Gaffer told him who lived in his home, his only thought was pity for the man. Never once did it cross his mind that something would have to be done, either to him or Bilbo.

“I’d like to stay, if that’s alright,” he answered honestly. “As long as you don’t throw me against the ceiling or make the walls bleed, I don’t see why we can’t make this work.”

Bilbo’s smile turned bright and excited.

“Of course! Bag End was always meant to have more than one person living in it. Though, in this case there still only one person living here.”

Fili chuckled, taken in by his enthusiasm.

“Then it’s settled then.”

Bilbo nodded.

“It’s settled. I’m glad,” he admitted, suddenly turning shy. “I’ve grown to like you’re singing.”

Fili stopped short at that, wondering what he could mean. Then he remembered.

He sang when he washed the dishes, a habit picked up from his father. Bilbo had heard him singing and he liked it. Fili liked that he liked it.

“Maybe sometime you’ll join me,” he offered tentatively.

Bilbo shyly looked down at his feet, still bare, before peeking at him from beneath his bangs.

“I could do that.”


	3. Thorin/Dwalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had miscalculated and was no indeed of Dwalin's help.

"We camp here for the night," Thorin barked, dropping his pack to the ground. The rest of the Company were surprised at the announcement. They still had plenty of time to travel yet, sundown not being for another few hours. Bilbo was the one to point such things out.

"Shouldn't we continue awhile yet? We can surely make it to the bottom of the valley before nightfall," he wondered, pack still on his back.

"We camp here and that is final, Halfling," Thorin snapped, glaring at the hobbit. Bilbo meekly ducked his head and shuffled away, not wanting to invoke Thorin's ire further.

The dark haired dwarf paid him no mind, turning on his foot and stalking into the woods.

"Dwalin, with me!"

He didn't stop to look back to see if his most trusted friend and warrior was indeed following. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the rest of the Company as quickly as possible.

Half a mile from their camp he stopped.

"I'm in need of your aid," he grunted, turning to face his friend. Dwalin stared back at him, leaning on his ax and waiting for him to elaborate.

"I've...miscalculated. I thought I would be fine until Durin's Day, but apparently not."

"You aren't a wizard, Thorin. Stop speaking in riddles," Dwalin replied. The king sighed, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Already he felt his body begin to react, his heart racing and his desire growing.

"I've come into my heat," he finally admitted.

Dwalin raised a brow at that before sniffing at the air. A feral grin came onto his face as the growing, heavy scent made itself known.

"So you are," he growled, a pleased look coming onto his face. Thorin felt his desire spike drastically at the look, his nostrils flaring wide as he smelled the effect he was having on the warrior. It was faint, but recognizable. An Alpha going into rut, a direct response to his Omegan heat.

"Please," he panted, feeling no shame as he begged. "I need this."

Dwalin set aside his ax and stalked forward, a predator on the prowl.

"You certainly do," he growled, stepping close and grabbing Thorin by his upper arms, holding him still in a bruising grip. He thrust his nose deep into the junction of his neck, inhaling deeply straight from the source. Thorin whimpered at the sensation, knees trembling at the feeling of being overpowered by a strong Alpha.

"I'm going to take you, right here in the dirt and mud. Mark you as mine and claim you so no one else can even think of touching you," he promised. He walked Thorin back until he was pressed against a tree and trapped by his larger frame. Satisfied with the new position, Dwalin wasted no time in sinking his teeth into the glands at Thorin's neck. The king's response was a wanton groan, the pleasure coursing through his veins at the bite pushing him further into his heat. It still wasn't enough though.

"Touch me," he demanded, braking free of Dwalin's grip so he could guide his hands over his body. Calloused and scarred hands crept beneath his armor and glided across his naked skin. Thorin pressed further into him, one leg instinctively raising to wrap around his partners waist. Dwalin quickly caught it and held him in place, growling at the sensation this new position brought.

"Look at you," he panted, taking a moment to look at his king. Thorin's face was flushed with desire, his eyes half lidded and his sweet mouth parted as he panted heavily. He was completely lost in his desire. "No better than a common whore. I bet you would have taken any dwarf, you want it so bad."

Thorin trembled at his words, unable to deny the shock of pleasure they gave him. Dwalin continued.

"But no other dwarf will touch you. You're mine and mine alone."

Thorin felt himself nodded, hips thrusting as he tried to relieve some of the pressure that had him wound tight. Dwalin's hands came to rest there with a tight grip, stopping his movements. The dark haired dwarf whimpered at the loss and desperately tried to continue. The warrior held fast though.

"Say it," he demanded, glaring down at king as his voice took on the full tone of an alpha. Thorin felt himself melt at the sound. "Say who you belong to."

"You," Thorin answered without hesitation. "Only you, my alpha!"

Dwalin grinned viciously, pleased with his victory.

"And I shall prove it to you now!"

When the returned to camp that night Thorin had a distinct limp to his step and Dwalin strutted like a peacock in spring. The Company wisely made no comment, even when the two sat side beside, pressed tightly together.

If they also decided to share a bedroll that night, no one mentioned it either. But it was certainly noted.


	4. Tauriel/Sigrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unlike the other fairies, Tauriel loved her wards with everything she had.

The room was a vision to behold, full of bright color of all sorts. Women in elaborate gowns danced with men in a tailored jacket, each pair laughing and smiling in their enjoyment. It was a scene full of merriment, one Tauriel observed from a secluded balcony.

This wasn’t her party, but she was there nonetheless. Just for one person, though. From her vantage point she could see the entire ballroom, but her eyes remained fixed on one in particular. A young woman, with honeyed gold hair in a cream colored dress, her face hidden behind a golden mask shaped into a butterfly. Sigrid, the kindhearted girl so cruelly treated by her master, the vile and greasy Alfrid, and her ward. She wore a smile that Tauriel hadn’t seen in a long while, not since before her mother had passed. Though it pleased her to see the girl enjoying herself, it also made her heart break because she was not the one causing that smile. The man she danced with was. How she envied him.

“Tauriel,” a solemn voice called from behind her.

The red haired woman turned away from watching her ward dance to face who called her. Legolas stood there, blond hair delicately braided out of his face and dressed in much the same manner as the other guests. In his hand he held a green mask that had been attached to a stick. She had no idea he would be here.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” she informed, turning back to her watch. Sigrid was still dancing, looking at the man who held her with eyes like stars.

“My ward was invited. Naturally I would attend, to ensure his safety.”

Tauriel made a noncommittal hum, not really interested in his reasons. He was there, that’s all that mattered. Legolas came to stand beside her and followed her gaze.

“That is Sigrid,” he asked, though he didn’t need to. He knew who Sigrid was, but it was polite to ask anyway.

“Yes,” Tauriel replied with a sigh. “That’s her.”

Legolas observed her dancing, face a mask of stone.

“She’s a pretty thing, for a human.”

The redhead fairy tensed at the comment. She knew Legolas didn’t mean any insult, however he had the arrogance of his father. To him, humans were merely the mortals they occasionally served on fate’s behalf. Nothing more, nothing less. Not to Tauriel though. They were so much more than that.

“She has also caused a stir of interest among the rest of the guests,” he continued. “All want to know who the strange woman who captured the prince’s heart is.”

Tauriel felt her heart clench painfully in her chest. Hearing her friend say it aloud was far more cementing than thinking it in her head. The prince was falling in love with her Sigrid, and from the looks of it, Sigrid was falling just as hard. She bit her lip at the thought, the physical pain momentarily distracting her from the emotional. She heard Legolas sigh quietly beside her.

“Will you never learn,” he asked, though he didn’t expect an answer. It was the same story, time and time again with Tauriel. Unlike the other fairies, who knew how to keep their feelings separate from their wards, Tauriel didn’t. She gave them everything she had, every ounce of strength and love, and in turn they took it all, greedy and without question. And then, when they no longer had need for her presence in their lives, because fate had finally caught up to them, they left her with nothing, save a broken heart. Yet she kept doing it. Legolas wanted to know why.

“Because one day, they won’t leave,” she explained, sad eyes watching as the prince lead Sigrid away from the crowd and onto the balcony. “I’m sure of it.”

Legolas hadn’t the heart to deny her words. Instead he offered her his hand.

“Come,” he said, placing his mask back on his face. “It’s almost midnight. We’ll be expected back home soon.”

Tauriel nodded and took his hand. She spared one last glance at the room below her, convincing herself that she could see Sigrid from where she was and that she was happy with the prince. Even though it broke her heart, that was all she could wish for in the end. Her happiness.

She and Legolas disappeared in a burst of light.


	5. Kili/Ori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori had a lonely childhood, with little friends to spend his days with. That all changed when a new family moved in.

Ori had a lonely childhood. As a shy, often sick, boy he hadn’t had many friends who shared his interest. He didn’t enjoy roughhousing or tumbling in the mud, instead taking delight in storybooks and learning to knit at his mother’s knee. It was a common taunt on the playground, using his likes against him. They called him girly-boy and sissy, tripping him when he tried to join in on their games or pushing him away when he dared to venture near the swing set. So he learned to stop trying and stuck to the edge of the school yard, playing make-believe by himself in the grass and trees.

That all changed one crisp, Autumn day. A new family had moved into town. Ered Luin was a small place, so naturally everyone knew of newcomers by the week’s end. Nori had told Dori, who had told their mother that a woman and her brother moved into a house on the edge of town. His mother than told him that this woman had two sons, both around his age.

“Perhaps they will be your friends,” she wondered with a soft smile. Ori smiled back, not wanting to disappoint her. She hated when he was sad.

When he went to school that Monday, the building was buzzing with excitement. Apparently it was the new boys’ first day and everyone was eager to see what kind of people they were. Ori had also been curious, but hide his interest well. It wouldn’t do for any of the other kids to find out. They would turn it into a new and cruel game against him.

He caught a glimpse of them at lunch. One had shiny blond hair and a cheeky smile, the other was dark haired that looked like no one had ever taken a brush to it. Both were in the middle of the group of kids that took great delight in tormenting Ori. The little boy sighed, clutching his little drawing book to his chest.

 _No new friends, I guess_ , he thought as he made his way an empty corner table. He ate lunch alone, again.

When the bell rang for afternoon break, Ori trailed behind the crowds. He waited until they were all involved in their own games before venturing out. He had quite an interesting dream the night before involving dragons and fallen dwarf kingdoms and was eager to reenact it himself. Any thoughts he had of the new boys had long since left his mind and he contentedly lost himself in his own game.

He had been in the middle of a great struggle against a trio of hungry trolls when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he turned around a bit too quickly, which had him tumbling into the ground and landing with a thump.

“Oh! I’m sorry, are you okay,” a young voice asked hurriedly. Ori peeked through his bangs and was surprised to see one of the new boys staring down at him with great concern. It was the younger one, with dark hair and eyes.

“I-I’m alright,” he answered back, voice hardly above a whisper. That didn’t seem to bother the other boy though, he gave a relieved sigh and smiled brightly at him.

“Good! I was wondering, what are you doing here by yourself?”

Ori looked at him in confusion. He wasn’t sure why the new boy was talking with him. Didn’t he want to play with his other friends, the ones that likes to wrestle?

“U-uh…I’I’m playing m-make believe,” he found himself answering. His mother always taught him it was rude to not answer a person, and Ori was a very polite boy.

The new boy grinned down at him.

“Fun! What are you playing? Can I play too?”

Again, Ori was confused. No one had ever asked to join in his games, not ever. He didn’t know quite how to respond.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, he was saved for that when one of the other boys noticed what the new boy was doing.

“Kili! You don’t want to play with that, sissy! Come back and race with us,” he exclaimed, sneering down at Ori. Ori flushed and averted his eyes, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.

The new boy, Kili, seemed to have no qualms in it though.

“I want to play make believe. Not some stupid race,” he replied stubbornly. Ori looked up in surprise to see the dark haired boy glaring at the other.

“Fine,” the boy sighed, “we can play make-believe. But not with Ori! He’s a girly-boy who doesn’t know how to play _real_ games!”

It was a common taunt they flung at Ori, and like the first time they said it, it still hurt him greatly. Tears gathered at his eyes and he pulled his knees up against his chest to hide his face away. He found that he didn’t want Kili to leave, but couldn’t help but believe that he would.

“And we don’t want to play with some bully. So scram,” a new voice broke in. Ori heard a huff and then retreating footsteps but didn’t look up from his knees, that is until he felt a hand resting gently on his head. Cautiously he looked up to see Kili smiling gently at him, his brother beside him.

“Can we play now, Ori? That dumb kid is gone.”

Ori sniffed and nodded his head. Kili beamed at him.

“Great! Now, what story are we playing? Does it have warriors in it? I want to be an archer. Fili can be a swordsman!”

Ori found himself caught up in the other boy’s enthusiasm and soon found himself explaining his story to the two brothers. The rest of afternoon break was spent fighting goblins and facing dragons together.

“What are you smiling at?”

The deep voice broke through Ori’s daydream and brought him back to reality. Ori stared up at Kili with a smile, his head resting in his lap.

“I was just thinking of the day we met,” he answered honestly. Kili grinned down at him, remembering that day well.

“That was a good day,” he commented. Ori hummed, letting his eyes slip shut as he felt the other man’s hand card through his hair.

“The best day of my life.”

 


	6. Nori/Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur always wanted kids.

Bofur had always imagined his adult life as being one full of children. Even when he was a kid himself, he liked to imagine being his mother’s age and having three or four wee ones that had his hair and eyes. When he realized that his preferences lay far from the “normal” sense, he didn’t let that tarnish his dream. After all, in this modern age, there were options other than the traditional one. He didn’t mind if they didn’t have his hair or his eyes, just as long as he had them.

He never took into account falling in love with a man who, unlike himself, had no desire for any children whatsoever. But life was funny that way, wasn’t it?  
Nori was everything he could ever want and then some. Funny, with a rapier wit and a clever mind, he kept Bofur on his toes, just the way he liked it. He was also kind and gentle in private, sharing his deepest thoughts and secrets with Bofur, things he swore no other person in the world knew. Bofur loved him, deeply, and he personally thought he would make an excellent parent. Nori didn’t quite think so.

“I’ve got too much of a past. I’ll just screw up any kid we get,” he laughed whenever Bofur brought up the subject. The pigtailed man could see the darkness behind his eyes when he said that, knew that Nori truly believed his words though he tried to make it into a joke.

“That’s what makes you perfect for them,” he reasoned, wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist. “We could foster older kids, those who haven’t had that great start of life. You would give them the best shot they could ever have.”

Nori would just sigh and relax into Bofur’s arms.

“Let’s talk about this another time, Bof. When things are a little more settled.”

Again, it was the same thing he said every time. No time ever seemed like the right time to discuss this with Nori. Either money was tight or their jobs were busy, something always got in the way. Bofur was patient, though.

“Of course, love. We’ll talk another time.”

He would then kiss the red haired man on the nose and switch the subject with all the finesse of a ballet dancer. Nori would follow his league, but Bofur would see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes.

In the end he knew Nori didn’t _not_ want kids, rather he was just scared. That was alright. Someday he would see what Bofur saw, and realize that they would make great parents together. He wanted kids and he wanted them with this man. He was willing to wait for when he was ready. Nori was worth waiting for.


	7. Thranduil/Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard hated being called to the principal's office, especially if it was for a parent-teacher conference.

Bard had only ever been called to the principle’s office three times in his life, and each time had been for his own personal misdeeds as a student. Never for his own children though. Sigrid, a naturally mature girl, avoided trouble with ease, while Bain was too tricky to ever be caught. He had hoped that these traits would have passed onto his youngest daughter, but apparently Tilda was dead set on forging her own path. This was the sixth time in half-term alone that he had been called in for a conference.

“What did she do now,” he asked as soon as he sat down, bypassing all social manners and getting straight to the point. From the corner of his eye he saw Tilda pouting with all the majesty of her father, that is to say it was haughty and majestic and somehow left you feeling that you were the one in the wrong.

“Mr. Bownman, thank you for coming in,” Principal Baggins smiled at him, his chubby cheeks making his eyes squint slightly.

“Mr. Baggins, please. Just tell me what it is she did and what we have to do to make things right.”

The short man sighed and leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his belly.

“Tilda,” the principal addressed the little girl, “Would you like to explain to your father why we have to have this meeting.”

The little girl huffed and rolled her eyes slightly.

“Because Lotho Sackville-Baggins is a cry-baby who always tattles when things don’t go his way,” she informed, eyes flaring with anger. Bard felt a headache forming behind his eyes. Of course it was Lotho, it was always Lotho. Hopefully they would manage to finish this meeting up before his shrew of a mother caught wind of it and barged in on them, demanding Tilda’s expulsion. Perhaps some sort of school award for Lotho as well, to ease his bruised ego.

“Be that as it may,” Mr. Baggins continued diplomatically, “we don’t hit others to get our point across. Violence is not tolerated in our school.”

Tilda opened her mouth to no doubt fire a witty retort, another habit she got from her father, when the door swung open in an impressive show of drama and Thranduil swept inside the office. Bard’s headache suddenly became much worse.

“Why has my daughter been detained,” he demanded, looking down his nose at Mr. Baggins, who calmly stared back. The short principal had far too much experience with adults who thoughts themselves above others and wasn’t at all intimidated.

“She hasn’t been detained, Mr. Greenleaf, she isn’t a criminal. However, we are having a short meeting to discuss her misbehavior, as is protocol for these sorts of things.”

The blond man huffed and rolled his eyes and Bard was suddenly very tempted to restrict the time he and Tilda spent face to face. That may be difficult with them all living under the same roof, but Bard was sure he could find a way. Anything to stop from raising another Thranduil.

“If we are quoting protocol, then may I remind you that both parents must be informed before any discussion is to be had. I only received the email twenty minutes passed, yet Bard is already here. Why is that, Mr. Baggins?”

“Thranduil, I only just got here. Stop causing trouble and sit down so we can discuss this like rational adults.”

The blond man glared at his husband, who calmly stared back, before giving in and settling himself in the seat beside him. Thranduil made the old wood chair look like a throne.

“Now, back to Tilda. During lunch today, she and Lotho got into a fight that ended with Tilda tackling him into the dirt,” he informed.

“Did she tackle him, or did they simply fall in a pile and the other child exaggerated?”

“Judging by the bloody nose and black eye he is now sporting, I would wager the former, Mr. Greenleaf. Also the three adult witnesses to the event,” Mr. Baggins dryly informed, not at all in the mood for Thranduil’s ways. Bard didn’t blame him.

“I thought you said she wasn’t a criminal here. And yet you are calling on witnesses like she was on trial!”

“Thranduil, stop it. Tilda broke the rules and you aren’t helping matters,” Bard broke in with a stern look toward his husband. Thranduil stared back for a moment before facing the principal again.

“If we insist on treating my daughter like a criminal, then we deserve to hear her own statement,” he informed. Mr. Baggins sighed and waved a hand, letting him do whatever he wanted. With a pleased smirk he addressed Tilda.

“Darling, tell us why you _allegedly,_ ” Bard rolled his own eyes at this part, “tackled that other child. You won’t get in trouble if you tell us the truth.”

Bard opened his mouth to protest, as Tilda would very likely be punished for hurting another kid. Thranduil silence him with a quick look.

“He kept tripping Arwen and throwing rocks at her,” she informed. “We told Mr. Dain, but he said to just ignore him. One of the rocks hit Arwen in the head and that’s when I tackled him.”

Silence fell over the room in light of this new information. The gloating look Thranduil had on his face was a mixture of pride and cockiness, as if he knew all along Tilda’s reasons.

“Well then,” Mr. Baggins spoke, his brow furrowed in concern as he thought on what to do next. “Coming to the defense of another student is another matter entirely. Though I don’t condone violence, I can understand your frustration at a situation that should have been handled by an adult, yet wasn’t. We’ll leave it this time with a warning, Tilda. If you ever come into this situation again, where an adult isn’t listening to you, please some find me. I will take care of it at once.”

Tilda nodded, also looking very much like the cat that got the cream.

“May we go now,” Bard asked, feeling very drained from the short meeting.

Mr. Baggins nodded.

“Yes. It appears I have a few more meeting to arrange taking in account this new information. Have a good evening.”

Taking the dismissal, Bard quickly stood and gestured for his family to leave before him. Thranduil, still smirking with glee, stood and regally offered his young daughter a hand before strutting out into the hall. Bard gave Mr. Baggins one last nod in farewell before following.

During the ride home, when Tilda was too focused on her iPad to pay any attention to what he fathers’ were doing, Bard addressed Thranduil.

“You knew Tilda wasn’t to blame this time. How?”

The blond man smiled mysteriously as he drove. He glanced at Bard from the corner of his eyes before focusing back on the road.

“Simple. She is your daughter, through and through.”

That had Bard pausing for a moment in consideration. He had always thought Tilda was a miniature version of Thranduil, and in may ways she was was. Yet, thinking on it now, her handle of the situation was something Bard would have done himself when he was her age.

Tilda wasn’t punished for the trouble she caused. In face, she got an extra serving of dessert that night. Thranduil’s smirk in response was infuriating, but Bard let it slide. Just this once.


	8. DisxFilixKili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her children made a hard day perfect.

The house was dark when she came home. The watch on her hand read 2:00 in neon green colors, far too late for ever her wild sons to be awake. She could only hope Thorin got them into a bath before bed.

She crept into the house, doing her best to not make a sound. Sensible shoes were kicked off at the foyer and her jacket was hung on the hook, revealing the questionably stained scrubs she wore beneath. It had been a long day at the hospital, the fourteen hour shift full of all sorts of medical emergencies Dis would have been happy to live without. Such was life though.

The house was quiet and the only light was the small one above the oven. It was just enough to illuminate the corner of the counter in a soft yellow glow and the foiled covered plate resting there.

She gratefully approached it, knowing it was Thorin's doing. A quick pop in the microwave and she would scarf down the meal before collapsing in bed. She deserved that much.

While the microwave hummed, she walked to the fridge to get herself something to drink, but stopped short at the sight of a note written in two different childish scrawls resting on the kitchen table.

Happy Mother's Day to the best mom ever!  
Love, Fili and Kili

The 'F' in Fili was backwards and most of the letters were obviously traced with the help of a more experienced hand, particularly Kili's name which was far too straight for a toddler to achieve. Their was a drawing on the bottom of four stick figures holding hands. Three had dark hair, one hand blond. There was also a tree, a rainbow, and a smiling sun. Beneath each person was a label, though Dis didn't need such things to know who was who.

With a soft smile she carefully taped it to the fridge, on display for everyone to see. She finished her meal quickly and went upstairs.

She wasn't at all surprised to see to small lumps curled beneath her covers, soft little snores breaking the peaceful quiet.

She quickly dressed into her nightclothes and carefully slipped into bed, adjusting Kili so that she lay between both boys.

"Mama," a sleepy Fili quietly spoke, eyes still shut.

Dis softly shushed him, brushing his hair out of his face.

"Go back to sleep, darling. It's very late."

Fili snuffled and edged closer to her.

"Didyagetourpicture," he slurred, just on the edge of falling back too sleep.

"Yes, I did. Thank you very much for such a wonderful present."

"Kili helped too."

Dis smiled softly at this. Fili always made sure people knew when Kili was involved, for better or worse.

"I know. It was lovely."

"Unc'Thorin wrote the words."

"I'll be sure to thank him tomorrow."

Fili smiled sleepily at that.

"Good. Love you, mama."

Dis pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling him fully slip back into his dreams as she did.

"I love you, too, darling. Forever and always"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mother's Day!


	9. Kili/Tauriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4 times Kili told her he loved her, and the 1 time he didn't need to.

1.

They are seeing a movie, some sequel to some superhero film that Tauriel hasn’t seen. Kili seems to enjoy it, as he is sitting on the edge of the seat the entire time, mouth slightly open and eyes wide in awe. Occasionally he would glance at her with an excited grin and make some vague head gesture as if wondering if she also saw what he just saw. She would smile softly and nod and he would eagerly face back to the screen. The movie lasts for almost two hours, and though it’s not Tauriel’s cup of tea, she enjoys herself. As they leave, Kili laces his fingers through hers and brings it to his lips for a soft kiss. He gives her a smile and says:

“Thank you for coming. I know you would have rather seen something else.”

She just smiles and shakes her head.

“You wanted to see it, so that’s that. We can see my kind of movie next time.”

Kili sighs and looks up at the stars with a smile.

“That’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

It’s the first time he says he loves her, though it certainly won’t be the last. Tauriel will remember it until the day she dies.

 

2.

She makes it to the quarterfinals of the martial arts competition. Her opponent is a man from a rival dojo, with a foot of height on her and far more muscle. She balances herself on her back leg and forms a strategy in her head. It was obvious that, unlike her previous opponents, this one will not underestimate her based on her gender and age. Her suspicions are proven right when they were given the signal to engage and he came at her with all he had. She found herself struggling to get on the offensive, and within twenty seconds he had her pinned on the mat. A rush of panic filled her head as she realized she was going to lose this match. All her hard work down the drain in an instant. She felt defeat well up inside her and the desire to just give in was so tempting. Then a voice made itself heard over the shouts and cheers.

“Don’t you dare give up, Tauriel! You are so close, just a little more!”

Kili’s voice pierced the fog in her mind and she realized he was right. She wasn’t done yet. A well placed leg had her flipping the position she was in and suddenly it was her opponent being held to the map.

Later, as they’re walking home with her new trophy, Kili speaks.

“You were awesome,” he says with a wide grin. “And I love you so much for not giving up!”

She blushes slightly, still a bit unused to his open affection, though she smiles in reply.

 

3.

They fought before, but nothing like this. This involve yelling and screaming and words that should have never been said. He punches the wall and she throws a plate. They’re lucky they live in an unattached home or the neighbors would have called the police a long time ago. In their anger though they don’t care.

She can’t even remember exactly what they were fighting about. It could be her job working with Thranduil or her friendship with Legolas. It could be the constant disregard his uncle shows her or the fact that his mother still treats her like she’s just a passed thing for him, despite them being together for over a year. It was probably a combination of all these things, simply left to simmer beneath the surface until one day it was just too much and it exploded like Vesuvius and bringing devestation to those around.

Partway through the fight, after Tauriel has thrown her plate, but before Kili leaves to spend the night with his brother, the man throws his hands in the air and stomps across the room.

“God, I love you so much but you make me want to rip throw myself in front of a bus!”

Her temper is soothed slightly at this confession and the small worry growing in her mind was corrected. They may fight and scream, they may not talk to each other for a few days beyond grudging civility, but Kili still loved her despite all this. He wouldn’t leave her, not over something like that.

 

4.

He is sick, having caught the flu from Fili, who caught it from Bofur, who caught it only God knows where. He lays in bed with the blinds shut, surrounded by a sea of tissues. His nose is swollen and his skin is a sickly grey.

“I’b dying,” he groans, weakly flopping his arms about dramatically.

“You aren’t dying,” Tauriel tsked, placing a hand on his forehead to gauge his temperature. It’s still rather high, so she places a cold washcloth there to help bring it down.

“No, I am. No one who feels this way can live!”

She ignored his instances, and simply went about cleaning up his bed. The tissues disappeared into the waste basket and his blankets were rearranged so they actually covered him instead of being kicked aside. They wouldn’t last an hour in the way they were now, but at least she was trying.

“Before I die, you have to know something,” he continued, face serious and solemn. “You need to know how much I love you. You made my life better than I could ever imagine and I thank you for that.”

She smiles at him and leans down to press a kiss to his sweaty cheek.

“Silly boy,” she murmurs fondly, “I love you, too. And I promise you, you aren’t dying.”

Kili looks like he’s about to say something, but his face turns green and he shoots out of bed like a rocket. Tauriel watches as he races to the bathroom and throws himself over the toilet, his meager meal of soup and crackers quickly coming up. She just shakes her head and leaves him to it.

 

5.

She’s tired, more tired then she has ever been, but she’s also incredibly happy. After months and months of waiting, the day finally arrived and her daughter, her perfect, wonderful daughter was here.

It was late, probably close to midnight if she bothered to look at the clock, and the room was dark and shadowed. She lay in the hospital bed, unable to sleep despite her exhaustion. How could she when her little miracle was just feet away from her?

The labor had been long and intense, finally ending in her being wheeled into the operating room for an emergency C-section. It hadn’t been the way she wanted to bring her child into the world, but what’s done was done. In the end she was healthy and Tauriel was here as well. For that she was thankful.

A soft noise had her turning her head, ready to ignore her doctor’s order of bed rest and rush to her daughter’s aid if she needed to. Before she could do that though Kili stood and approached the little bassinet.

“Hush now, little star,” he whispered gently, carefully scooping their child up into his arms and rocking her gently. She continued to fuss and whine, obviously ready for another feeding, but wasn’t outright crying just yet. It was obvious that she recognized the voice of the man holding her, the voice that would sing and tell stories to her while she was still in Tauriel’s womb. “Your mama will make you feel all better.”

Tauriel carefully adjusted herself so that she could take her daughter and guided her to her breast. She greedily latched on and suckled away. Tauriel watched in awe and felt so much love for this little girl that her heart was fit to burst.

Nearly overwhelmed with emotion, she looked up at Kili for some reassurance. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. He just smiled at her in the way only Kili could and Tauriel knew.


	10. Thorin/Bilbo Pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forest was too quiet and Bilbo knew something was amiss. Naturally he would investigate it.

The Shire was quiet, far too quiet for it being the middle of a fine summer day. This was Bilbo’s first hint that something was amiss. The hobbit carefully picked his ways through the trees, stopping every so often to listen to the silence around him. There wasn’t a hint of bird song or a rustle of brush that spoke of a rabbit making a burrow. Far, far too quiet.

The second hint he was given was the smell. The air held a sweetness to it that was characteristic of summer, yet there was something else as well. The tiniest trace of earth, not at all the kind of earth hobbits enjoyed. It wasn’t warm and loamy, full of promise of new life if carefully tended to. This earth was cold and had a tanginess that Bilbo had only ever smelt on metal. Quite out of place here in the shire.

A sensible hobbit would have traced where this scent was originating from and then deliberately make a path in the opposite direction. Though Bilbo prided himself in being a sensible hobbit, there was a wicked dash of Took in his blood that often contradicted such sensibleness. So when he found that path of the smell he pointed his feet toward it and marched along. His mother would have been so proud.

His nose lead him to a seldom visited glen, dark and ominous it was. The trees here were old and full of hate that had been carefully cultivated by some evil sorcerer long ago. Hobbits were protected with their gentle magic, but still made a point to avoid places like this. Hobbits, above all else, loathed any conflict. Cautiously Bilbo walked forward, keen eyes watching the shadows for any sign of danger. Nothing immediately jumped out at him, so with a bit more confidence he ventured further. He soon found the reason for the unnatural quietness of the forest and the strange smell. A dwarf. A very loud and very trapped dwarf.

He was tangled in a bramble of thorns and was struggling fiercely. However, with every tug and push he gave he only managed to get himself further and further ensnared. Bilbo tentatively reached out with his magic and confirmed the fact that this particular bush was taking a viciously delight in his prey, intent on keeping him captive until he withered away and died. Bilbo shivered at the malicious intent of the plant and made up his mind rather quickly. He wouldn’t let this dwarf die.

The dwarf stilled at the sound of Bilbo’s approach and looked up with a fierce glare that softened slightly when he saw who, or rather what, was approaching him.

“The first sign of life in this orc-filth forests and it’s just a deer,” the dwarf sighed in frustration. Now Bilbo was rather offended by this. First off, the Shire, though wild, was _not_ orc-filth. There hadn’t been an orc in her borders for nearly five hundred years, thanks to the deep magic in the roots of the trees, and it was Bilbo’s home. He didn’t like some stranger insulting it. Secondly, he was not a simple minded deer! He may look like it at the moment, but hobbits bore many forms. This just happened to be his most comfortable. He informed this strange dwarf as much.

 _I am a hobbit, Master Dwarf. I would kindly ask that you address me as such_.

The dwarf froze as he heard Bilbo’s words echo through his mind and cautiously looked up again. There was a careful mask over his face that spoke of suspicion.

“What vile sorcery is this,” he hissed, eyes not wavering from Bilbo once. Bilbo snorted.

_Nothing of the sort, Master Dwarf. Though if you wish, I can retrieve my cousin Lobelia. She is not a sorcery, but is certainly vile._

The dwarf didn't seem amused by his joke, another mark against him, and just kept staring at Bilbo. Finally, he spoke.

“What are you?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes.

_I told you, I am a hobbit. As for who I am, my name is Bilbo Baggins of Bag End and intend to free you from your entrapment if it’s agreeable with you._

The dwarf just narrowed his eyes.

“How can I trust one who speaks in my mind? For all I know this is trick, a mirage placed upon me by the evil of this forest that means to torment me to my death.”

Seeing that the stubbornness of dwarves was not at all exaggerated, Bilbo came up with a new plan. Gathering his magic deep within in his belly, he let it build before releasing it. He felt his body shift and shrink, his front forelegs shortening into arms, and his antlers disappearing into his head. By the time the magic had subsided the deer was gone, and a short, curly haired man was in it’s place.

“Is this a far less threatening form,” he asked dryly, holding his arms open for inspection.

The dwarf could only stare in shock at Bilbo, obviously not expecting to witness what he just did. With a huff Bilbo approached him and went to work. His hands carefully untwisted the thorns from the dwarf’s person and a little magic was sent into the plant to sooth its anger. Reluctantly it let its prey go and sunk back down into a deep sleep. The dwarf tripped forward with his new freedom, forcing Bilbo to catch him. He grunted at the sudden weight. The dwarf may not be much bigger than he was currently, but he certainly weighed more. Like a boulder.

Bilbo set him back on his feet and held his arms until he was steady.

“Thank you,” the dwarf gruffly said, standing back to his full height. “I don’t think I would have been able to free myself.”

“No,” Bilbo agreed, “you would have died. Not a very gallant death, being trapped by a grumpy rose bush.”

The dwarf glared at him, but Bilbo remained unfazed. He was feeling rather proud of himself, helping this stranger. It was noble of him, doing as such. Quite an adventure, really. He was sure the fauntlings back home would like his story, especially if he added a nasty wizard in the mix.

“Thorin.”

The dwarf speaking interrupted his thoughts and Bilbo could only blink up at him in confusion.

“Pardon?”

The dwarf sighed in annoyance and repeated himself.

“My name, is Thorin.”

Clarity hit Bilbo like a bolt of lightening.

“Oh, well it’s very nice to meet you Thorin,” he politely replied and rocked back on his feet. He looked up at the sky, and noted the shadows amongst the leaves. It was getting rather late and he should head back.

“Well, goodbye.”

He turned on his heel and began to take his path back home, but Thorin stopped him.

“Wait! I don’t know the way out.”

Bilbo stopped and turned to the dwarf. He blankly stared at him.

“Alright?”

The dwarf seemed to grit his teeth and clenched his fists.

“Will you show me the way?”

Obviously asking Bilbo for help was a trial for Thorin.

“I’ve already saved you from the thorn bush. Why do more?”

“Because I’m a dwarf and will die in these woods alone!”

That did seem to make some sense. And Bilbo would hate to have saved a life only for that life to go and die on him simply because he couldn’t find his was through the forest.

“Where are you headed,” he asked with a sigh, resigning himself to his new fate.

“The Blue Mountains.”

“That’s over a three-week journey! I can’t be away that long. I’m sorry, Master Dwarf, I cannot help you.”

Again, he attempted to get away but was stopped by the dwarf’s words.

“Please,” he quietly begged, his tone near desperate. “I have a family, and they need me back safe. Please.”

Bilbo turned and looked at the dwarf.

“A family?”

The dwarf nodded.

“Two young boys, who lost their mother far too early. They can’t lose me as well.”

That certainly changed things. Bilbo had lost his parents to the Fell Winter and knew the struggle of having to grow up too quickly to survive. Luckily for him he was nearly an adult when this happened, though it certainly hadn’t hurt any less. He couldn’t say the same for the two boys Thorin mentioned. He thought of it all for a minute before nodding his head.

“I’ll take you there.”

Thorin sighed in relief.

“Thank you.”

Bilbo nodded and gestured for him to come closer.

“If we hurry, we can make it to my home before dark. We’ll continue on tomorrow.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure what he was getting himself into, but he couldn’t deny the sense of excitement rising within him. It had been far too long since he had a good adventure.


	11. Thorin/Bilbo Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin intrigued him.

They reached Bag End just as night fell. Lucky, too. The air had a heaviness that spoke of rain that would no doubt last until morning.

“Please, make yourself at home,” he offered, guiding Thorin into his burrow. The dwarf entered and looked around curiously.

“I’ve never seen a home like this,” he admitted, taking in the curved walls and earth floor.

Bilbo shrugged.

“I imagine this is far different from living in a mountain.”

The dwarf grunted, but gave no further answer. He simply ventured further into Bilbo’s smial, examining everything he could. The hobbit let him. He doubted he had anything that a dwarf might see value in, so wasn’t worried about possible theft. Besides, his dwarf didn’t strike him as the burgling kind. There was an air to him that spoke of honor and noble intentions that didn’t match his worn clothing. It intrigued Bilbo.

“Are you hungry,” he asked, making his way to the corner that served as his kitchen. It was a simple thing, just a hole dug deep enough for a fire and a pot to hang over, lined with stones to prevent fire from catching. He had made a lovely stew that morning that would reheat nicely and the Gamgee’s had shared some freshly baked bread with him the day before. He told the dwarf as much.

“That would be fine. Thank you.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Thorin stop and peer at something.

“Who are these people,” the dwarf asked, picking up the simple wooden frame that held a simple picture.

“Those were my parents,” he answered with a sad smile. “My father actually built this home for my mother, you know. A sign of his love.”

The barest hint of a smile danced at the corner of Thorin’s lips.

“My father did something similar for my mother,” he admitted, carefully replaced the frame back to where it belonged.

Bilbo laughed quietly.

“I guess people enjoy doing grand things for those they love.”

Thorin nodded and settled himself down on the ground, facing Bilbo.

“Did you do something similar for your wife,” the hobbit asked, wondering at the family the dwarf had left behind.

Thorin furrowed his brows at him in confusion.

“I have no wife,” he answered.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed that with the sons you mentioned before that you had been married.”

How embarrassing! Bilbo knew that marriage was not a prerequisite for children, but hadn’t wanted to shame the dwarf by pointing such things out. For all he knew dwarves did things differently, though the thought made him blush.

“You are mistaken, Master Hobbit,” Thorin interrupted his thoughts, an amused smike on his face, “I have no sons either. The young boys I told you of are my late sister’s sons. I am their guardian now.”

Oh. That made sense.

“What of a sweetheart, then? A lady dwarf waiting to welcome you home?”

Thorin shook his head, his braids swinging slightly.

“Not that either, male or female. Save my nephews, I am quite alone.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Bilbo replied honestly, “a handsome man like you can’t be wont for suitors.”

Thorin raised a brow at him, his amused smirk growing ever so slightly.

“You find my handsome, Master Hobbit?”

Bilbo blushed, ducking away.

“I-I m-mean, I can c-certainly see by hobbit standards you are a catch. I-I don’t know what you dwarves find attractive.”

The dwarf chuckled, a deep but pleasant sort of sound that had Bilbo’s ears twitching with delight.

“Peace, Master Hobbit. I’m merely teasing you. I certainly have had my fair amount of suitors, though none have ever caught my eye. Besides, I have had responsibilities that hindered my active pursuit of a mate.”

Bilbo relaxed, willing his face to stop blushing.

“I imagine your nephews take a great deal of your time.”

Thorin nodded, a fondness coming into his eyes as he thought of his sister-sons.

“They certainly keep me on my toes,” he admitted. “But what of you? Is there a Mrs. Baggins you are hiding away?”

Bilbo shook his head.

“No, I am also alone. Though it wasn’t responsibilities that kept me from courtship, merely disinterest. When I was younger there had always been something far more interesting to explore than love and then one day, I woke up and I was a middle-aged hobbit too old for such things. I missed my chance, I guess.”

He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it was hard. He hardly ever admitted his loneliness aloud, even to himself, but speaking with Thorin was seemed different somehow. He thought best not to dwell on why, just that it was.

“My mother used to tell that you only ran out of time when you were dead. Until that point, the world was full of possibilities,” the dwarf said.

“She was a wise woman.”

Thorin nodded.

“She was. If she were here, she would not doubt tell you the same thing, adding, of course, that she knows many lovely and single dwarves that she could introduce you to. Matchmaking was a favorite hobby of hers.”

That had Bilbo laughing.

“Then she and my own mother would have gotten along splendidly!”

Thorin chuckled along with him.

“Somehow I believe you’re right.”

By this point the stew had been reheated to a pleasant degree and both were famished. They ate in silence, relishing the warm food in their bellies. When seconds had been served and devoured they spoke again.

“Was there ever someone you found yourself wanting to court,” Thorin asked, an honest curiosity on his face.

Bilbo thought for a moment before answering.

“Once. Shortly after I grew my first antlers. He was a Brandybuck three years older than me with the most gorgeous red hair. Like autumn leaves before they fall,” he explained.

It had been the only time Bilbo had ever weaved a courtship crown, taking care to pick the very best flowers to send the right message. Unfortunately, it wasn’t well received. The memory of trampled flowers still sent a lance of pain through him when he thought of it.

“Nothing came of it though. He married a Cotton girl and have a litter of fauntlings,” he quickly finished, not wanting to open up those memories again.

Thorin frowned at him, sensing his distress.

“His loss,” was all he said in reply. Bilbo looked up at him in surprise, but the dwarf didn’t elaborate further. Instead he simply stood and stretched.

“You said we should leave at first light. I would like to sleep now, if that’s alright with you.”

“Y-yes, of course! This way.”

Bilbo led him to one of his guest bedrooms and let him settle in for the night. As he left he couldn't help but think of what Thorin said.

Very intriguing.


	12. Dwalin/Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin felt out of place among the middle-aged moms and teenage girls. He wasn't the only one.

Dwalin felt wholly out of place in this crowd. Amongst the teenage girls with braces and middle-aged women in mom-jeans, it was no surprise that a six-foot tall biker stuck out like a sore thumb. He tried to make himself appear less threatening, hunching his shoulders and keeping his eyes trained toward the floor, but judging by the wide berth he was being given it wasn’t working very well.

He glanced at the clock set on the wall, reading that it was just ten minutes before three o’clock. He still had a bit of time to wait, but that was fine. He had been waiting for this day for months now, the chance to not only buy the latest book in his favorite series but to have the author sign it as well. He was fine with being a little uncomfortable if it meant meeting Bilbo Baggins.

The sound of someone shifting beside him had him glancing to his left. A young man with dirty blond hair stood there, dressed in worn jeans and a casual button up. He seemed to sense Dwalin’s staring because he looked up and gave him a soft smile.

“Sorry,” he apologized, taking a small step away. “There are a lot of people here, and I don’t really fancy being trampled by teenage girls and their moms.”

Dwalin snorted, understanding the feeling well and why the young man chose to stand near him. Despite the crowd, Dwalin had a consistent three-foot radius surrounding him that no one, save this stranger, seemed willing to breach.

“No worries,” he grunted, and went back to staring at his feet. From the corner of his eyes he saw the young man clutching a familiar book, the first in the series everyone in the crowd was waiting for. It was a worn paperback, with many dog-eared pages and tape keeping together the frayed spine. Obviously it was well-loved.

The young man once again caught him staring, smiling as he brought the book up for inspection.

“I was hoping Mr. Baggins could sign my copy when we meet. I know I’m not the typical target audience for his stories, but I can’t help loving them,” he admitted with a shrug. Dwalin knew exactly what he meant. Despite being under the genre of Adventure, Mr. Baggins’ stories were well known for their romance angle and emotion filled plots. As such they tended to be favored more by women than men, though Dwalin (and now this stranger) were exceptions to this.

“Have you read his last one? I thought it was his best yet,” he replied. The young man’s eyes widened slightly, but he was quick to answer.

“Oh, I loved it! Especially how he wrote the confrontation between the two main characters towards the end. The raw emotion had me on the edge of my seat!”

Dwalin nodded and turned toward the man. He rarely got to discuss his favorite literature with another person and found it refreshing.

“The build was certainly something. The way he wrote it was so real that it almost seemed like I was reading someone’s personal journal instead of a work of fiction.”

The stranger nodded, his blue eyes shining with delight. He offered Dwalin his hand.

“I’m Fili Durin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Dwalin took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Dwalin Fundin, at yer service.”

“So, Dwalin, what got you into these books? I found them by mistake but got hooked after the first one, as you can tell,” Fili laughed, hefting up his worn novel. Dwalin chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed by the answer he was about to give.

“Honestly, I was so sick of reading about heterosexual couples and wanted something I could relate to.”

Fili’s nodded, a relieved look on his face.

“Yeah, that’s certainly a reason I stuck with it. It’s nice seeing an accurate representation of your life instead it being used as just a controversial plot point.”

Dwalin agreed. For most of his life the outside world liked to make his sexuality a topic of hot debate, for good or for bad. It was a nice to finally find an author who simply wrote it as it was, nothing edgy or provocative or blatantly erotic, it was just was. He was glad others were just as thankful as he was.

“Hey,” he began, rubbing his neck again awkwardly and shuffling his feet slightly. “If you’re free after this, I know a great café nearby that makes the best coffee and brownies. It’s also pretty quiet. I was planning on going there to read the first few chapters of the new book. Do you maybe want to join me?”

He had never been very good as asking other people out, but he thought as far as date requests went that was pretty solid. A bit wordy, but his point was made and he hadn’t made a fool of himself. He waited anxiously for his answer.

Fili smiled shyly at him and nodded.

“I would like that.”

Dwalin felt his face split into a pleased grin and his face heat a bit with a blush.

“Good. That’s great,” he laughed breathlessly, unable to contain his excitement at the answer. Fili caught onto his enthusiasm and laughed with him.

A voice over the stores intercom interrupted their amusement.

“ _Those waiting to meet Mr. Baggins, will you please form a line toward the back. He will be arriving shortly.”_

Dwalin looked at Fili and gave him a shy smile.

“Shall we?”

The blond nodded and together they followed the crowd to the back. As they walked Dwalin had a single thought race through his head.

_If we get married, I wonder if we should invite Mr. Baggins._

It was silly, but Dwalin made a mental note to put him on the guest list anyway.


	13. Nori/Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori always thought they'd be together, no matter how hard they fought.

For some reason, no matter how badly they fought, Nori never once imagined that he and Bofur wouldn’t be together. They were both simply so passionate, which made their love and makeups even greater than their conflicts.

He lost count how many times the pigtailed man stormed out of their house, too many times that he stopped chasing after him. Instead Nori would hang onto his anger, let it simmer beneath the surface and keeping him on edge for the days to come. Sometimes Bofur came home that night, rearing to keep fighting, other times it would be days. Those times they had both gotten over whatever it was that set them off to begin with and their fiery tempers had been soothed into dramatic repentance. Nori secretly enjoyed it when Bofur was gone for days. It made their reunion so much sweeter.

This fight had been no different then the others. Nori didn’t know what started it, just that it did. Words were said, things were thrown. Finally, Bofur threw his hands up in the air, grabbed his coat and keys and left. It was late at night, so Nori knew he wouldn’t see him for awhile. At that moment he didn’t care, too wrapped up in his ego to feel guilty. Besides, this had happened all before and they got through it. He was sure it would be the same.

Days past and Nori’s anger subsided, but Bofur still didn’t return. It was curious. The other man had never been gone longer than three days, but now the fifth day was about to end. Perhaps Nori misjudged Bofur’s anger? Maybe he needed a bit more time to settle. He let him be, making himself dinner and going to bed alone. He hated going to bed alone.

The next day his doorbell rang. Bombur was on the other side and he didn’t look happy.

“We’re here for Bofur’s stuff,” he explained brusquely, and brushed pass the smaller red haired man. Bifur followed behind him, glaring mightily at Nori as he walked by.

“What do you mean? Where’s Bofur,” Nori asked, following them into his home. He watched at the two cousins made their way to their shared room and began grabbing odds and ends. A few shirts, a couple of pants, Bofur’s favorite blanket.

“Bofur’s had enough, Nori. I can only say I’m surprised it took him this long,” Bombur replied, though he refused to elaborate. Nori could only watch in confusion as they continued to pack away a few things from his room before leaving. The large man stopped short of leaving, turning to give Nori a solemn look.

“Don’t make this harder on him than it already is.”

Then he left.

Nori tried calling Bofur that night, but it just went straight to voicemail. He convinced himself that the man was simply being dramatic and would be home soon. It was an easy lie to swallow.

The next few days passed, but still no Bofur. He kept calling, but never got an answer. Then he went around to his work, but his manager said he was too busy to talk.

“Go home, Nori. It’s better this way,” Bilbo sternly said, pointing to the door. The man had no choice but to do as he was told, but as he left he swore he saw a flash of dark brown hair and a familiar hat. When he turned to look though, it was gone.

He didn’t sleep anymore. The bed was too large, too cold, and too empty. Instead he sat in the kitchen and watched the door, willing it to open and for Bofur to come through. He never did.

His brothers were starting to worry.

“You can’t go on like this,” Dori huffed, picking up Nori and forcing him to put on fresh clothes. “It isn’t healthy!”

“Nori, I know it hurts, but maybe its for the best,” Ori tentatively offered. Nori refused to believe his words and kept calling.

Three weeks of this and he finally heard from Bofur. He checked his phone after work, surprised to see he had a new voicemail. Eagerly he played it, but soon wished that he didn’t.

_“We just aren’t right for each other…I’m so tired of fighting…can’t you see how sick this is…I do love you…this is the last time…goodbye.”_

He listened to the message again and again. Every time he played it, the little heart attached to Bofur’s contact mocked him.

When he made it home that night, it was to a dark house full of strange new shadows. Bofur’s recliner was gone, as was all his clothes and books. His whittling knife, which Nori had left on the fireplace mantle, was no longer there and so was the picture of him and his brother and cousin. For all the things gone, there was one thing left behind. On the kitchen table was a little brass key, with a little monkey attached to it. Nori had given him the keychain when he asked him to move in, saying it reminded him of Bofur with his big smile.

That was it. He was gone and Nori was alone.


	14. Dori/Balin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori didn't remember the day he met Balin with particular fondness.

"Do you remember how we met?"

Dori looked up from his book in confusion, wondering what prompted such a question from his husband. Balin had fond smile on his face and a distant look in his eye.

"Of course I do," he replied shutting his book. "How could I forget a day like that?"

It was truly a day he wouldn't forget, though looking back he couldn't honestly say it wasn't with great delight.

Dori had been young, smart, and far too righteous for anyone's liking. Balin had also been young, smart, but where Dori was a stick in the mud he had been a spoiled brat with a sense of entitlement bigger than his ego. Their first meeting had been a clash of personalities that left both of them fuming and with no desire to further their acquaintanceship beyond that.

"You were quite the ass," he elaborated, fixing his husband with a stern look.

Balin smirked at him, nodding his head accession.

"And I thought you were the most self-centered bastard I'd ever met. But also the most beautiful."

Dori felt his face heat up in a blushing.

"W-well that's because in addition to being a spoiled child you also only ever thought with your sex drive instead of your brain. And people think Dwalin is the rebel of the family." His flustered reply was met with chuckles, which in turn wound him up even more.

With an affronted huff he opened his book and pointedly ignored the other man. He saw Balin smiling at him from the corner of his eye and noisily turned the page. Balin chuckled.

"There's something I never told you about that day," the Scottish man continued, that fond smile still on his face. Dori tried to ignore him, but his curiosity got the better of him. He cautiously looked up from his book and raised a challenging brow at his husband.

"That day," Balin continued, "I deliberately sought you out."

That hadn't been what he expected. Raising a brow, he silently encouraged him to continue. He obliged.

"I had seen you arguing with your philosophy professor on the morals of deforestation in the Amazon. I had never seen someone so impassioned by a subject, that I at the time saw no importance in. So I followed you and struck up a conversation."

Dori gaped at him, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"If you wanted to meet me so much, why did you start an argument with me? It doesn't make any sense!"

Balin shrugged.

"I liked your fire, and wanted to see more of it. Remember, back then I was a young man who was used to getting what he wanted. It just made sense at the time."

Dori spluttered at him for a moment, but was unable to form a decent retort. He finally gave up and went back to his book. Balin chuckled again and let him read, though he still had that infuriating smile on his face. Dori found he didn't mind too much.


	15. Thranduil/Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People past their twenties had no business playing such games, yet they were. Thranduil was no impressed.

_This was a stupid game,_ Thranduil thought, glaring at the seemingly innocent glass bottle pointed in his direction.

“Aren’t we a bit old for this,” he drawled imperiously, switching his glare from the bottle to the chuckling people around them. “I do believe Seven Minutes in Heaven has an age restriction of twenty-three. We are well past such age.”

“Come on, Thranduil,” someone to his left drawled out rather drunkenly. He couldn’t remember her name, only that she was a Durin with a mean right hook. “Go and get some!”

He sneered as she waggled her eyebrows at her and then at the man who spun the bottle. Which brought him back to his second point.

“I am not kissing Bard.”

Not that he wasn’t an attractive man, with his dark hair and matching eyes, his resting smolder that had girls trembling with delight, and a voice as deep and rocky as the Grand Canyon. In fact, on any other day he would have been delighted to kiss such a man. However, here and now, for the amusement of others? He didn’t think so.

“Typical,” Thorin mocked, “you agree to terms and then back out when it’s time to perform you back out. Why am I not surprised?”

“Says the man who has only kissed managed to only kiss his own lover this evening,” Thranduil snarled, glaring at the short, pudgy man cuddled to Thorin’s side. Bilbo just rolled his eyes, well used to their bitter rivalry and taking no offense. He had always been the sensible one.

“Kiss him or perform a dare chosen by yours truly.”

Thorin’s challenge was left hanging in the air, and Thranduil knew he was not getting out of this in any way. Either he went into a cramped closet and made out with a man he genuinely could see himself falling for, thus losing any chance with him over a silly game. Or humiliate himself by doing whatever demeaning task Thorin set against him. And the way his guarddog Dwalin was guarding the door the blond knew there was no escape.

Before he could make his decision, however, the choice was taken from him. Bard stood up abruptly, hands in his coat pocket as he stared down at his fated partner.

“Let’s go,” he grunted, looking down at him with an impassive face. With a sigh he stood up, and strut into the open closet with as much dignity as he could manage. He ignored the jeers and whistles following from behind him.

Bard shut the door and then the two were alone.

For a moment they just stood there, staring at each other. Finally, Thranduil spoke.

“I refuse to kiss someone under duress,” he informed, crossing his arms and daring the other man to go against him.

Bard just shrugged.

“I wouldn’t force a person to do anything they were uncomfortable doing. That’s the basic law on consent.”

Unsure if this was a trick, Thranduil kept his guard up.

“What, you don’t want to kiss me,” he prodded, trying to get a read on the stoic man.

“I didn’t say that. Just that if you don’t want this, we’ll just stand in here for seven minutes and it’ll be done and over with.”

There was an honesty that surrounded his words and shined in his eyes that had the taller man relaxing. He left his arms drop to his side and leaned against the wall.

“Who even suggested this game,” he grumbled, glaring at his boots.

“Dis. She’s gets a kick out of these sorts of things.”

That was her name, the drunk Durin girl. He liked her far more than her brother, but now preferred her sober.

A loud knocking came from the outside of the door.

“I don’t hear any smooching in there,” the devil herself laughed.

“What, do you have a glass against the door,” Thranduil snapped back, burning at hole through the wood with the might of his angry gaze.

“Stethoscope, actually. Get to it! You only have four minutes left and if there is no kissing than you forfeit and have to do our dare. And let me tell you, it’s a good one!”

Another snarl left his lips that had Dis sniggering harder on the other side before it fell silent.

“Fine. I admit defeat.”

Thranduil stood and stepped close enough to Bard that he could feel his breath on his face. He hadn’t realized that the dark haired man was taller than him. Not by much, but enough for him to notice when they were this close. Also, his eyes weren’t just endless black, but the richest brown he had ever seen, intermixed with flecks of hazel and gold. Bard stared back down at him, his face still cool but a fire dancing behind those eyes.

“Kiss me.”

His demand was quiet but nonetheless insistent. The other man nodded and brought his hands up to cup his chin. His palms were rough against his cheeks, the hands of a man who worked for a living. Thranduil suppressed a shudder at the feeling and a stray thought ran through his mind about how those hands would feel gliding in other places. Then his lips pressed against his, soft and pliant.

Thranduil’s eyes fluttered shut at the gentle pressure and the tiniest moan escaped him at the sensation of a wet tongue timidly licking at the seam of his mouth, begging for permission to enter. He gladly gave it.

All too soon it was over. Bard stepped away and then the door was opened, flooding the dark room with sudden light.

“Well,” Dis asked, a filthy grin on her face. “How was it?”

Thranduil brushed past her, but didn’t answer.

“Telling isn’t part of the game, Dis,” Bard sighed, and followed Thranduil out of the closet.

“You didn’t kiss him,” Thorin accused. “That means he forfeits.”

The dark haired man stopped and turned toward the other man. He didn’t glare at him, but there was a definite weight behind his gaze.

“Are you calling me a liar, Durin,” he asked softly, not needing to raise his voice to let his displeasure be known. Thorin tensed beside him and opened his mouth to fire a retort. Bilbo’s hand on his side stopped him though.

“Thranduil didn’t forfeit, Thorin,” he insisted, a small, knowing smile on his lips. “Leave it be.”

Thranduil didn’t want to know how Bilbo knew they kissed, but was grateful that he spoke. He didn’t want any part of the Durins’ dare.

“I’m sick of this game. Pick something else, or I’m leaving.”

Another game was chosen and the night continued. Thranduil noted that Bard sat next to him the entire night, and even walked him to his car later. Perhaps there was a chance after all.


	16. Bifur/Bilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bifur didn't know where he was or how he got here. He just wanted to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By request, a Bifur/Bilbo story. Enjoy!

He didn’t know where he was. The last thing he remembered was getting ready to press the gas pedal of his car as his light turned green, but after that there was nothing. Bifur looked around the room he sat in. It was a bland, in that corporate sense. Simple, functional furniture filled the ten by ten space in muted greys. It was obviously an office of some sort, but Bifur couldn’t remember ever being to one like this.

The door suddenly opened, revealing a tall, elegant looking man with a stoic face. He carried a blue file with Bifur’s name neatly printed on a white label in the corner.

“Mr. Broadbeam, my name is Lindir. I have been assigned your case,” the man introduced himself, his voice pleasant but strictly business. He sat in the chair opposite of Bifur and put the file on the desk. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Bifur shook his head.

“No.”

His voice came out hoarse and jagged, as if he was trying to speak after swallowing a mouthful of sand. He didn’t know why it was so difficult to speak, only that it was. Lindir seemed uninterested.

“You are here because your Clock has frozen and it must be decided whether or not it should be restarted.”

A tall hourglass was sitting on the desk; Bifur was certain hadn’t been there before. The sand, like Lindir said, was frozen mid-stream. The bottom was about half-way filled, with plenty left over at the top, but no more fell. For some reason the image didn’t sit well with him.

“What is that?”

Lindir raised a brow and looked at the hourglass and then back at Bifur.

“That is your Clock, the predetermined time given to you at birth that dictates your life. It is frozen because of certain events that have recently taken place that must be discussed before we can proceed.”

Bifur didn’t like the sound of that.

“What does that mean? Where the hell am I?”

The man folded his hands in front of him and simply stared at Bifur with eyes too old for his face.

“To put it simply, Mr. Broadbeam, you are dead.”

It was like falling through ice into the water below. Bifur felt all the air seize from his lungs and a chill take its place. His vision began to darken around the edges as he fought for air, unable to comprehend what he had just heard. Lindir watched him calmly from his spot, face impassive.

“No,” he gasped, stumbling out of his chair, “that’s not true! It can’t be! I was just driving to work.”

Lindir nodded, opening the blue file. He picked up the first page and showed it to Bifur. It was a picture of his car, a twisted mess of metal and smoke.

“Yes, you were, but then you were hit by another driver who ran a red light. You flipped three times before slamming into telephone pole. The other driver was lucky. He died on impact. You struggled for a bit.”

Bifur started to remember things then. The feeling of his turning violently, his teeth gnashing against each other at the jostling. Dangling upside down and the blood rushing to his head. An intense pain, like nothing he ever felt, emanating from his forehead. Shouts, both of panic and order, mingling around him. One voice was more familiar then the rest, begging him to hold on.

“Bilbo,” he softly spoke, remembering the small man by his side. “Where’s Bilbo?”

Lindir lazily flipped through the file to another page, stopping on one near the middle.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he read, finger following the lines of the page. “Age, 32 and unattached. Met in a coffee house where you both ordered the same drink and awkwardly danced around who would get the first one made. Friends ever since, spending a majority of time together doing such things like playing miniature golf, watching B-rated horror films, and eating take out from a Chinese restaurant of questionable quality.”

That didn’t answer Bifur’s question. His panic turned to anger, which he readily turned on the man. Slamming his hands on the desk he demanded an answer.

“Where. Is. Bilbo!”

Lindir seemed unimpressed by his show of force.

“I imagine the same place he has been for the past three days. By your side in the hospital.”

Bifur blinked, confused by his words.

“But you said I was dead?”

Lindir sighed, and nodded.

“You are. But humans are an incredibly ingenious species, coming up with ways of keeping your vessel alive long after your spirit has vacated. You are currently in a coma, with machines running your basic biological functions. Technically you are alive, by their standards. But not by ours. For now, at least.”

Bifur fell back into his chair, anger leaving him just as quickly as it came and a hollowness replacing it.

“I want to go back,” he softly confessed. “Bilbo will be so alone. I can’t leave him.”

Lindir watched him with a new interest.

“What does it matter? What is Bilbo Baggins to you?”

Bifur didn’t need to think about the question for long, he had the answer for a long time now. Bilbo was his everything, his light, his laughter, his sunshine. He loved the man with all his heart, taking delight in all his quirks and idiosyncrasies. He loved the way he over brewed his tea and how he walked around the garden with bare feet. He loved when he wrinkled his nose when something annoyed him and the sharp retorts he gave when he lost his temper. Bifur couldn’t imagine life without Bilbo, or even an after life. He told Lindir as such.

“Yes, but did you tell Bilbo?”

He hadn’t. Bifur had thought he had time, time to gather his courage to confess to his friend. It was a big thing, telling someone that close that you love them in a new way. Scary even. Bifur would go to bed with the promise that he would tell him tomorrow. But for some reason, tomorrow never came and now he was out of time.

“Please,” he begged, looking at the man in front of him. “Let me go back. If only for a moment. Just to tell him what I should have a long time ago.”

Lindir watched him carefully, his face betraying no emotion. Finally, he nodded.

“You can return, but things will be different now. No one comes back from the dead unscathed, Mr. Broadbeam, and no one gets a second chance after this. The next time we meet will be the final time.”

The sand in his Clock began to fall again and the room faded from his view. The last thing Bifur saw was Lindir closing his file and then nothing but blackness.

It was the sound of machines beeping that told him he was back in the world of the living. He opened his eyes only to see blurs of light that slowly came into focus. The machines beside him changed tempo as he awakened further and suddenly there was a face above him, a tired, worn, and hopeful face.

“Bifur,” Bilbo asked, leaning close to him. “My god! You’re awake!”

Bifur tried to say his name, but something in his throat blocked his attempt. Bilbo seemed to understand and pressed a button on the wall.

“The nurse will be here soon,” he promised, giving him a shaky smile. Bifur felt his hand wrap around his own and tighten slightly. He tried to squeeze back but couldn’t find the strength.

A nurse came into the room and said something that Bifur couldn’t quite understand, but was grateful when the tube was taken out.

“I’ll go fetch the doctor,” he promised and left. Bifur thought he looked familiar, with his pale skin and dark hair but couldn’t quite place why.

“How do you feel?”

He looked back at Bilbo and knew he had to tell him something, something important. He tried, but again the words wouldn’t come out. Instead a garbled mess left his lips. Bilbo gave him a sad smile.

“The doctors said there might be some damage, but they didn’t know how much until you woke up.”

Bilbo eyes darted to Bifur’s head. The dark haired man let his free hand travel up, surprised to see feel not only bandages wrapped around there, but also something else. Something that felt like metal.

“It was too dangerous to take you,” Bilbo explained, gently taking Bifur’s hand away before he caused further damage. “They might be able to now that you’re awake, but we’ll have to see.”

Bifur tried to say something, but again all that came out was grunts and grumbles. Bilbo shook his head, his sad smile still in place.

“Don’t speak, not yet. We’ll wait for the doctor to get here.”

Bifur watched as tears formed in Bilbo’s eyes before falling down his cheeks.

“I thought you were gone,” he confessed, breaths coming in hitches as he was overcome with emotion. “I had so many things I wanted to tell you, but though I had time. Then I got the call that you were in an accident and then they were telling me not hope.”

Bifur desperately wanted to stop his tears, but couldn’t. He didn’t have the words. The man he loved was in pain and Bifur couldn't stop any of it.

Suddenly he remembered what it was he had to tell Bilbo and felt his heart break when he realized he couldn't. He had to tell him that he loved him, but had no words left.

_No one gets a second chance after this._

He didn’t know where those words came from or what they really meant, but Bifur believed them. He may not have the words now, but he would find other ways to tell Bilbo. He had to.

For now, he focused on the hand holding his. With all his concentration he squeezed it as strong as he could. Bilbo looked up in surprise at the sensation, but smiled when he saw Bifur’s face. It wasn’t a sad smile this time. He squeezed back, but didn’t say anything further. He didn’t need to. Not yet.


	17. Ori/Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori stays because he loves Thorin and he knows Thorin loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!  
> Abusive relationship. If you are uncomfortable with this type of story, please don't read.

If he were honest with himself, Ori doesn’t know why he stays.

He tells himself it’s because he loves him, that he doesn’t mean the things he says and does. Thorin has a stressful job and a lot of responsibility that would test the patience of a saint. And it’s not always bad. Sometimes it’s really good. Like when the older man comes back from a business trip with a first edition book that he knows Ori will love or when he takes the weekend off and they stay in bed all day together. Ori lives for those days.

His brothers don’t approve of their relationship, but they don’t know all of it. Ori hides it from them. These things should be private, he tells himself as he wears a long sleeve sweater in the middle of summer, hiding the bruises on his arms. Thorin forgets his strength sometimes and that Ori is rather delicate. He always apologizes when it’s over, so Ori forgives him. Even when it hurts to move his arms too quickly. He doesn’t mean it.

It’s worse when Thorin drinks, but Ori doesn’t stop buying liquor for him. He had once told him that he has nightmares of the fire that took his mother from him, that drinking helped him forget and to sleep at night. Ori would never want him to remember the horrible things that he went through, so he doesn’t mind when he gets drunk and starts to shout and rage.

Things can be replaced he tells himself as he sweeps up the broken glass. He doesn't mind that Thorin broke his mother’s tea set because he knows the man will regret his actions in the morning and apologize to him. He saves the broken pieces in the hopes of finding someone who can repair it. Broken things can be fixed.

“You know I love you, right,” Thorin asks him sometimes, usually after a particularly hard night for them.  “It’s just, I’ve had such a hard day and I hate coming home expecting to see you here and you aren’t.”

Ori says he does know and promises to make sure he’s home when Thorin gets here. If that means canceling some dinner plans with Bilbo and other friends that’s fine. Thorin needs him more than they do.

He then kisses him, hiding a wince at the feeling of his lip splitting just a bit further, and excuses himself to go get cleaned up. He’s careful not to drip blood on the carpet.

It’s because he loves him that he stays. No one would love Ori as much as Thorin does, something the man reassures him of constantly. Thorin is devoted to Ori, only wants the best for Ori. Sometimes that means a little tough love, but in the end it makes him better. Ori believes that.

So he stays. He stays when the shouts turn into blows and the home he in starts to feel like a prison. He stays because he feels so alone, but not when Thorin is around. He stays because that’s what you do when you’re in love, you stick beside that person for better or worse.

No one ever said love was easy, but Ori convinces himself that it’s worth it. He has to.


	18. Tauriel/Sigrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel was not one for public displays of affection.

It was something that had surprised Sigrid when they first started dating. Tauriel was a naturally brass, unashamed sort of woman who had no qualms with letting her opinions be known. She didn't care what other people thought about her, striving forward with a confidence that Sigrid envied. So when she discovered that her girlfriend, her strong, self-assured girlfriend, was shy when it came to affection in public it threw her for a bit of a loop.

It was the truth though. Tauriel blushed like a timid virgin over any type of affection shown. If Sigrid held her hand while they walked don the street her ears would turn slightly pink. If Sigrid put her arm around her in the park her whole face would suddenly match her hair. The first, and only time, Sigrid had kissed her in public Tauriel had gone so red that the blonde woman had been afraid she would faint dead away and hurriedly gave her space.

"I-I'm just n-not used to t-these things," Tauriel had stuttered, looking down at her lap. Sigrid noted she was twisting her fingers, a sign of her anxiety.

"Hey, it's okay," she reassured, smiling gently at her but not making any move to touch her. "I don't want to push you were you aren't comfortable. Just sitting next to you is more than enough."

The other woman had smiled softly back at her, pure relief shining in her eyes. Sigrid had privately wondered what sort of relationships in her past made her so weary of public affection. She didn't push though. Tauriel would tell her when she was ready.

Sigrid was fine with waiting, because as conservative as Tauriel was with their relationship in private she more than made up for it in private. When they were alone Sigrid could hardly keep her off, not that she really minded. Holding her girlfriend was something she greatly enjoyed doing.

"You're sure your fine with this," she asked between kisses. "Keeping this behind doors?"

Sigrid hummed in agreement, her tongue darting out to test the sweetness of the other woman's lips. She tasted like ginger and citrus, an unusual but intoxicating combination.

"Of course. It means I don't have to share you with anyone else. Besides, it's not like we're hiding who we are. Everyone knows our relationship. I'm more than happy with that."

Tauriel smiled and gave her another sweet kiss. Sigrid let her eyes flutter shut at the sensation, savoring the softness pressing against her.

"How did I ever get so lucky," Tauriel whispered against her lips, forehead pressed against hers. Sigrid let her eyes open, taking in the image of her girlfriend leaning against her with a smile on her face. She was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.

Sigrid was telling the truth when she said she enjoyed not sharing their affection with the world. Only she was allowed to see Tauriel like this, soft and gentle, while the world saw her as strong and unbending. She didn't need to kiss her in public, not when she had her like this in private.

"Hey," she whispered and Tauriel's eyes opened. Sky blue stated into cinnamon brown. "That's my line."

The other woman smiled, sweet and perfect.


	19. Fili/Kili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili never did like sweets. Kili loved them.

Fili never liked sweet things. Even as a child, when his mother would make fresh brownies after school, he would turn his nose up at the treat and ask for something else instead. His father just laughed and said he was probably the only boy in the world who served popcorn at his birthday parties instead of the traditional cake. Fili saw nothing wrong with that. He loved popcorn.

Kili, however, loved all things sweet. Cakes and cookies, candies and ice cream, it didn’t matter to him. He devoured each treat with a sort of ravenous glee that made you think it was his last meal. That was just the way Kili was, though. He never did anything with less than his full enthusiasm. Their mother would dryly comment that it was her son that kept the local dentist in business, being nearly pure sugar that would rot his teeth if left alone.

It was an arrangement that worked quite well for the brothers. Fili would get his savory snacks, his chips, pretzels, and popcorn, while Kili helped himself to his brother’s serving of dessert. They never saw any reason to change it, even as they got older and moved away from their childhood home.

“Why not try a vegetable,” Fili commented, eyeing the chocolate cake on his brother’s plate with slight disdain. Kili just grinned and stabbed the spongy dessert with his fork, shoveling a decent size portion into his mouth. Buttercream icing stuck to the corner of his lips, which he happily licked away.

“I had some corn earlier this week. That more than enough for me,” he cheekily replied, resolutely ignoring the small bowl of peas that Fili had laid out on the table for dinner. A dinner Kili hardly touched.

“Funnily enough you need more than one serving of vegetables a week to maintain your health,” Fili chided, pushing the bowl closer to his brother. Kili continued to ignore it, now solely focused on his quickly diminishing cake. Fili tried another tactic.

He rose from his seat and leaned across the back of Kili’s, arms boxing him in.

“You’re going to get fat,” he whispered in his ear, smirking with delight at the shiver his brother gave. Kili glared at him from the corner of his eye, but there was also a mischievousness there.

“Can’t fool me, brother. You love my soft belly.”

It was true. Fili loved every aspect of his brother, but the chubbiness in his belly was something he took particular delight in. Softer than any pillow, he spent hours caressing and kissing the pudge there, much to Kili’s utter delight. Still, he didn’t want his brother to make himself sick with all the sugar he was eating. He pushed on.

“You know, I have a treat for you that you might like to devour.”

The grinding against Kili’s back was hardly subtle, but they neither of them cared. They were far beyond the coy stage.

Kili stood and wrapped his arms around his brother.

“I do think I should balance all the sweets I’ve been eating with something _salty_.”

Subtly was definitely not their forte.

Fili drew him into a lewd sort of kiss, licking away the rest of the frosting that coating the inside of his brother’s mouth. He may not be a big fan of sweets, but he was a big fan of Kili. To him, he was far better dessert than anything else.


	20. Dwalin/Dis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had always loved her.

He had always loved her. From the minute she was a born, a squalling, red faced babe with a full head hair as dark as her brothers, he loved her. Dis, the shining princess of the Durin line, the first female born to them in over three hundred years. Dwalin believed she was perfect.

As they grew, so did his love for her.

While Thorin and Frerin whined and groaned about their baby sister tagging along in their play, Dwalin insisted on it. He took her hand and glared at her brothers, pulling her alongside him as they went on grand adventures throughout the Mountain. Dis would then beam at him, showing off perfectly white teeth and sparkling blue eyes.

Dwalin thought no sapphires could compare to the princess’s own gaze, though he strived to find the perfect match. He never was able to.

When he reached his age of majority, Dis was still an adolescent, but already showing signs of being a great beauty. Raven hair fell in thick curls to her waist, and her cheeks were full of whiskers that were twisted into such delicate braids. Her ample figure was swathed in the finest of clothing, as befitting her station, and her bearing was strong. Dwalin found himself unable to look at her fully, least he gets lost in his love filled thoughts.

He wasn’t the only one, either. Nobles of all houses recognized her beauty and despite being three decades away from adulthood, many sought out her hand in courtship. Dwalin inwardly seethed at these dwarves, but didn’t interfere. It wasn’t his place, though he wished it was.

Dis handled it well on her own. Each suitor was rejected with a swiftness and surety that left many of them spinning, showing off her growing wit and strength. Dwalin fell even more in love with her with each rejection.

Than Smaug came and the Mountain caught fire. Forced from their home and into the wilds, Dwalin saw another side of his love. A strength deeper than any mountain roots, stronger than any forged steel. Dwalin saw the way exile broke down the line of Durin, saw Thorin turn cold ang angry while Frerin lost his smiles. But not Dis. He watched as she was forced to bow to those smaller than she so that her people might live, but never once did she appear less than what she was.

 _A queen may bow_ , he thought as he watched her barter away her jewels and heirlooms for food and shelter. _But she is a queen in all things_. Nothing could break Dis and Dwalin loved her more.

His only regret in life was that he never told her while he had the chance. He was a coward in the ways of love, losing her courage and promising himself next time he would tell her. Next time he would confess. Expect there was no next time, because Dis met Vili. A dwarf of low birth, who made his coin through tinkering. He was everything Dwalin wasn’t. Blond hair and shining green eyes, he smiled as wide as the sun and three times as bright. He laughed easily and his hands were calloused from making funny little inventions, not from wielding an ax in service of his king. And Dis loved him with all her heart.

They were married on a warm summers day, where Dwalin stood as witness. His brother teased him for crying, thinking it was tears of happiness for Dis. He let him believe as such, but left the celebrations early.

He drank himself into a stupor that night, grieving what he had lost. But when morning came he let go of his self-pity. In the end he loved Dis, and love meant wanting the best for another person. If that person wasn’t him, then Dwalin would live with that. He would only want Dis to be happy and Vili made her happy. That was enough for him.


	21. Bofur/Bilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur loved Bilbo.

His eyes.

They’re bluer than any sky he has seen, deeper than any ocean he has swum in. Bofur loses himself in their gaze time and time again, but he doesn’t mind. It would a privilege to get lost in Bilbo’s eyes and he never takes it for granted. Each moment they stare at each other, however brief, is treasured. The nights where they don’t talk, just simply stare at each other are Bofur’s favorite nights. To be able to see the expression in his eyes, to know that the flicker of passion behind them is meant for him and only him is something he would never tire of. He dreams of those eyes every night and wakes up with a smile, knowing that soon he could see them again.

Bofur loves his eyes.

 

His hair.

Gold and with a curl so bouncy it always seemed to be moving. Unlike Bofur’s own hair, Bilbo prefers to keep his short. Just enough so that it fell over his ears, but not quite in his eyes. Enough that Bofur can run his fingers through and hold on tightly, but not risk it being caught when by accident. Bofur is grateful for that. Bilbo’s hair is so soft, that he can’t help but caress it. Bilbo doesn’t mind either, leaning into his gentle touch with each stroke. One time Bofur swore he began to purr, something Bilbo denied with a blush. He just chuckled and continued to pet him.

Bofur loved his hair.

 

His voice.

Not deep like a canyon, nor high like a bell’s chime. Instead it’s somewhere in between, a pleasant tone suited for storytelling and poetry. Bilbo humors him by reading aloud every night, his voice rising and falling with the rhythm of the words. To Bofur, it’s sweeter than any music he could ever play on his fiddle. It soothes him, when nothing else will. When Bofur’s day has been horrid and his nerves are tighter than a bow string, Bilbo’s calm, gentle voice washes over him like water over stones in a creek. To hear that voice in the heat of passion is even greater. The gasps and moans and broken sentences that escape his lip hit Bofur straight to his soul. He made Bilbo make those sounds, say those words. Only him. It was a skill that made him near drunk with power, not that Bilbo complained about it. In fact, he seemed to encourage it, panting and whispering sweet nothings into Bofur’s ear.

Bofur loved his voice.

 

His scent.

It reminds him of both home and the open road. Certainly a contradiction, but it couldn’t be anything else. The warm, enveloping scent of books, baked goods, and freshly laundered sheets reminded Bofur of the home they built together, full of memories and love. It lingered in Bilbo’s clothes and encouraged him to take deep whiffs as he held him close. Then there was the sharpness that stuck to his skin. The smell of fire, earth, the cold, wild winds of the road. It clung to him and no fruity soaps could mask it. It was a wildness that was intoxicating, that begged Bofur to lick and taste it. It was purely Bilbo.

Bofur loved his scent.

 

His touch.

Hands, calloused from writing and adventures danced over scarred skin. The roughness of his palms worked with the gentleness of his strokes, bringing Bofur a pleasure he had never known. He craved it, that feeling of his hands on his shoulders, in his hair, cupping his face. His touch made everything alright again. His touch banished the nightmares and shadows that plagued him in the evening. His touch rejoiced in his happiness, sharing his joy in a purely physical way. The feeling of him so close, his body pressed against his own was all he wanted. He would wrap himself around him in bed, holding him close and silently begging that it never end.

Bofur loved his touch.

 

Him.

Bilbo was all good things in the world. He was sunshine and spring, love and laughter. He blessed Bofur with his presence alone, bringing him happiness where he once thought there could be none. To have him, to love him was perfection. Bofur was happy and it was all because of Bilbo Baggins.

Bofur loved Bilbo.


	22. Fili/Sigrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as robberies went, it could have been far worse.

Sigrid hated riding in a carriage. The jerking movement and violent jostling gave her a headache she felt in her teeth and with the windows shut tight, as her governess insisted on propriety in all things, it was horrible stuffy and hot. How she longed to ride on her own, the feeling of Black Arrow’s powerful stride beneath her legs and the wind rushing through her hair and stinging her cheeks. She would even endure the saddle sores that came with a hard day’s riding. Anything was better than sitting in this hot box.

“How much further,” she asked with a sigh, hoping they arrived soon.

Her governess, a severe looking older woman that might have been a beauty in her prime had she the foresight to smile. Now she was just a stern looking old woman with white hair pulled back in an equally stern hairstyle who sat so straight Tilda once wondered if she had a plank of wood sewn into the back of her dresses. Sigrid wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.

“I imagine hours yet, my lady. It is a long way between Dale and Gondor,” she answered, not even pausing in her embroidery to do so.

Sigrid sighed, slouching against the back of her seat in a vain attempt to get comfortable. She hated the thought of being stuck in the carriage for any longer, the feeling of being closed in getting stronger and stronger with each passing minute. Just as it was getting to be to much, the carriage came to a jolting stop.

With a grunt, Sigrid grabbed on to the sides in an attempt to save herself from falling forward. Her governess wasn’t so lucky, having flown into the opposite seat with the sudden stop. Sigrid stifled a smile at the unseemly picture the old woman made, sprawled out as she was.

“Are you alright,” she asked, helping her back into her seat. The old woman sniffed and nodded stiffly, trying to salvage a bit of dignity.

“Yes, my lady. Though I will be having words with the coachman for such poor steering!”

Sigrid rolled her eyes, knowing that when given the opportunity the other woman could lecture for hours.

“I will take care of it,” she interrupted, hoping to save the poor coachmen from the old woman’s wrath. She knocked on the back wall, hoping to catch someone’s attention from outside.

“Why have we stopped? We can’t have arrived yet,” she called out, waiting for an answer. She heard the sound of drawing close to the door and suddenly the door was wrenched open. To her surprise a strange man stood on the other side, dressed in worn leathers with blond hair pulled back in messy braids. He grinned at her.

“Sorry to interrupt your trip, m’lady,” he mockingly said. “But we are in great need of something you have.”

Sigrid felt her a chill settle in her stomach.

“I see,” she responded coolly, sitting straight with her hands folded in her lap.

This was a robbery then.

“If you wouldn’t mind stepping out of the carriage, m’lady,” the man asked, offering her a hand.

From behind her Sigrid felt her governess stiffen as well, the severity of the situation not lost on her. With all the grace of her station, Sigrid took the offered hand and allowed herself to be helped out of the carriage. The moment her feet touched the ground she pulled her hand back, glaring at the stranger who merely smirked at her. From the corner of her eye she saw the escorts assigned to her by her father surrounded by armed highwaymen, outnumbering them three to one. There was no way they could fight them off. She kept her focus on the man in front of her.

“My name is Fili and you are trespassing on my family’s land,” he explained with mock sternness. Sigrid detected a hint of mischief behind his eyes. “I’m afraid you must pay a fine for such a crime.”

“I see,” Sigrid dryly responded. “I was under the impression that these lands belonged to the king. Are you the king?”

Fili’s shrugged, casually flipping a knife in one hand.

“As far as I see it, the person with the most people behind him is king. Currently, I have more people than you, which makes me king. Thus you must pay a fee to cross my lands.”

It was a childish sort of logic, but Sigrid could hardly fight it. Not unless she wanted to risk the lives of her escorts.

“Fine. What is the fee?”

The man hummed, stroking in bearded face with one hand while the other continued to flip his knife. It was slightly impressive.

“Five hundred gold coins should cover it,” he mused. Sigrid’s governess spluttered indignantly behind her. It was a very steep price, even for Sigrid to pay.

“The necklace I’m wearing is worth at least four hundred. I can also give you thirty silver pieces,” she bargained, offering the purse that hung from her dress belt. Fili took it, weighing it in his hand before tossing it to one of his men.

“That still leaves you short by ninety.”

Sigrid knew that well enough.

“I have nothing else, unless you want the dresses in my trunk. I don’t think they’ll fit your men though.”

Fili laughed at her jest, slipping his knife back into it’s sheath.

“Even if they did, I imagine they look much better on you.”

Sigrid fought to keep the blush from her face, ignoring the obvious flirtation in the man’s voice. The burglar stepped forward, a considering look in his eyes.

“I’ll take the necklace,” he announced, stopping so that he was right in her personal space. Sigrid noted that he was a great deal taller than her and a great deal broader. She also saw that up close, he was quite attractive. “I will also forgive the other ninety pieces on one condition.”

She looked up into his eyes, waiting for him to continue. He grinned rakishly down at her.

“A kiss from you.”

There was no stopping the blush on her face now. Flustered at the request, she looked away. He took another step forward, now close enough that their fronts brushed if either breathed too deeply.

“Well,” he asked in a low whisper, his husky voice sending shivers down her spine. She should be mortified by the request, offended to the point where she should demand his head for such insolence. Yet she wasn’t. Instead it excited and titillated her. She looked back at him, peeking from beneath her lashes.

“Deal,” she found herself whispering back. His grin turned feral at her response and his calloused hands reached up to cup her chin.

She let him pull her close, her eyes fluttering shut at the first touch of his lips against hers. The sensation of his whiskers rasping against her smooth cheeks, as well as the surprising softness to his lips against hers was intoxicating. She couldn't muffle the moan that escaped her, which was answered by his own growl. He deepened the kiss, winding his fingers in her hair and holding her tight against him. His tongue coaxed her mouth open and without hesitation plunged inside.

She didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, only that it ended far too soon for her liking.

Panting, she opened her eyes and gazed into Fili’s eyes. His eyes, blue like a winter sky, were full of a passionate fire. It was obvious he too was reluctant to end the kiss.

He leaned forward again, but stopped short of touching her lips again.

“Consider your debt paid,” he whispered against her lips, before giving them another quick caress and then dashing off.

Sigrid could only watch as he called his men to ride out, hoping on his own horse. He watched her heatedly for moment before racing off after the others, leaving Sigrid and her own group behind.

“My lady, are you alright,” her governess asked when it was safe, fluttering about her with worry. “That scoundrel shall pay for what he did! That indecency!”

Sigrid ignored her indignation, climbing back into the carriage. She could only think of Fili and the kiss he had given her. She caught her hand as it wandered up to her mouth, stopping it just in time from stroking her swollen lips. She let it fall against her neck instead, not wanting to her governess to make assumptions.

With a surprise she realized she was touching naked skin, instead of the jeweled chain that one hung there. Fili must have stole it while he took his kiss. Despite the loss, Sigrid found herself smiling softly at the thought and privately hoped that she would meet him again.

Perhaps next time he would demand two kisses instead of one. She would happily oblige him.


	23. Ori/Dwalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started off small.

It started in the smallest of ways. Every day, right before the noon meal while Ori was cleaning up the work he did that morning, Dwalin would stroll past the library. At first, the little scribe hadn’t even noticed the older dwarf. It was only by chance that he looked up one day at just the right time and met Dwalin’s gaze that he realized he was there. He gave his friend a shy smile and the old warrior nodded his head in recognition before moving on. That was it.

The next day he was there again, and Ori once again smiled and Dwalin acknowledged him in the simplest sort of manner. This went on for nearly a month. One day, though, Dwalin stopped.

“Are you headed to the main hall,” he asked in his usual gruff sort of manner. Ori, once easily intimidated by anyone larger than him, simply gave his customary shy smile and nodded his head.

“Yes. A quick bite to eat before returning to work,” he replied. That warrior grunted and nodded his head.

“I’ll go with you. I’m not needed down in the training pits for another hour.”

So they took their noon meal together. Ori was happy for the company, even happier when it became a routine for them. Every day, right as he was finishing his work, Dwalin would appear and walk down to the main hall with him. They would eat whatever the kitchen has prepared for the day and exchange pleasant conversation between their bites. Ori learned quite a lot about the older dwarf’s life, including the time he spent in Erebor before Smaug came. In exhcnage, he told him all about his childhood. How it was his mother who taught him to knit, but Dori was the one to teach him to read. That Nori, though often not at home due to his less that savory means of living, still made it to all the important events, such as his coming of age and when he graduated his apprenticeship. It was nice and soon became the point of the day Ori looked forward to most.

Two months later, Dwalin gave him a present. It was a simple quill, but with an ingenious little compartment that held ink so he didn’t have to constantly dip the nib into a waiting pot to write down his thoughts. Ori treasured it greatly.

“It’s nothing, really,” Dwalin grunted, looking away as Ori thanked him profusely. His face was a bit red, but Ori thought that must have been due to the summer heat.

Ori, having been raised with proper manners, ended up giving him a gift of his own. A pair of fingerless mittens that could be worn under his knuckle braces. He remembered the dwarf telling him how his joints weren’t quite what they used to be and that sometimes it was harder to grip his axes because of it. Ori hoped his gift would help that. It seemed to, as Ori noted he wore them nearly everyday, much to his delight.

“You have been spending a great deal of time with Dwalin of late, Ori,” Dori observed casually one day. Ori looked up from his book, curious as to what brought on such a statement. It was true. Nearly six months had passed since they began eating together and four months since they exchanged gifts. Now it was rarer for them to not spend at least a few hours in each others company than not.

“I guess I am,” he admitted with a small shrug. “He’s a good friend and I enjoy our time together.”

Dori smiled peculiarly at him.

“Yes, a good friend indeed.”

Ori was sure Dori meant something more with that statement, but couldn’t quite figure out what that might be. Seeing as his brother wasn’t elaborating he let it slide. It mustn’t have been too important.

This strange friendship continued on through the seasons. Summer turned into the cold of winter, which than melted into spring until at last a whole year passed since the first meal Ori took with Dwalin. He didn’t know why he remembered the exact date, but he did. It felt special somehow. He shared his thoughts with his friend.

“A year, huh?”

Dwalin smiled fondly at Ori, who nodded eagerly in response.

“Time certainly flies, doesn’t it,” the scribe wondered, his smile just as soft at the first day he gave it to his friend.

For a moment, Dwalin didn’t respond, and just stared at Ori with a curious look in his eye. Finally, he replied.

“Yes. It certainly does.”

“I wonder what the next year will bring us.”

“Only good things, I hope.”

Ori agreed wholeheartedly. Privately he thought that as long as Dwalin was by his side, of course good things would come their way. Such thinking made his smile widen ever so slightly.

The next day a gift was waiting for him on his work bench. Curious, he opened the little box and looked inside.

To his delight a newly bound journal rested in soft cloth. The leather binding shined with fresh oil and his name was carefully embroidered in the front with gold thread. IT was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Reverently he took it out of it’s packaging an opened it to the first page. A message in familiar writing took up the space.

 

_The gods have been good to me to give me a year by your side. I pray they grant me many more._

_**Dwalin, son of Fundin** _

A strange rhythm began to beat out of Ori’s chest, though he noted it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. It was rather exhilarating. Dwalin wanted to spend more years beside Ori and Ori felt very much the same. With a grin that was hard pressed to leave his face, he eagerly began to count the minutes until he saw Dwalin again. Time couldn’t fly fast enough.


	24. Dori/Balin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Balin's mind, Dori was perfect.

In Balin’s mind, Dori was perfect. His hair was just the right shade of silver, light enough to be distinguished but dark enough to not be mistaken for old age. His clothing was always perfectly tailored to his generous figure. Fine cloth elegantly fell over broad shoulders and perfectly formed legs were encased in seemly pants and boots.

He was also an excellent host.

“I have never tried this tea before, my dear. I do love it when you surprise me with something new,” Balin praised, sipping at the warm drink out of his cup. It was apart Dori’s favorite set. The white ones with purple flowers decorating the sides, polished so the china shined in even dim lighting. It had been a wedding present from Balin, who had even commissioned a little purple basket to hold them in when they weren’t being used. He was glad Dori loved them, even after all these years.

“Oh! I saw Ori today. That boy is busy as usual, working on yet another paper for the university. You must be so proud of him.”

Dori just simply smiled at him, his blue eyes shining with love. Balin smiled back.

“We should have him over for dinner soon. Would you like that? Perhaps we can invite Nori, as well. And Dwalin. We’ll make it a brother reunion!”

No reply, just more smiles. That was fine. Dori didn’t talk much these days, not that Balin needed him to speak. After so many years together words between them didn’t need to be used as often. They could manage on just simple looks and gestures.

With a sigh, Balin leaned back in his chair.

“We’ll plan something for when I get back from my business trip. Thorin is sending me to Europe to meet with the Greenleaf family.”

Dori’s eyes sparkled with a new interest.

“Yes, I’ll bring you back some chocolates,” Balin chuckled, winking at his lover. “I wish I could bring you with me. France would be quite romantic this time of year.”

The clock on the mantle chimed, announcing the late hour.

“Goodness, time flies. Shall I clean up, darling? Then we can get to bed.”

Balin bustled about, putting away their leftover food and meticulously cleaning out the tea from the pot and cups. He carefully placed them back in their little basket after drying them and put them away in their special cupboard.

“There,” he announced, coming back into the sitting room where Dori still sat. “All done. Let’s head to bed, shall we?”

He leaned down and pulled on of Dori’s arms around his shoulder. It was stiff and difficult to move. He breathed through his mouth in an attempt to deal with the smell. He would have to come up with a solution soon. It wouldn’t do for the neighbors to get suspicious of him.

That was a problem for another time though.

“Let’s go to bed, my love.”

Balin carefully made his way to the bedroom, dragging the corpse of his lover alongside him.

It was all perfect.


	25. ThorinxBilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin was desperate. Desperate enough to seek a contract.

He was surrounded by flames, creeping higher and higher until they were taller than him. No escape now.

**_Why would you want to escape? You contacted me, remember?_ **

The voice, mockingly cheerful, echoed around him. Thorin’s eyes searched the for source, but couldn’t find any.

**_Silly mortals, thinking everything much be tangible to exist. You can’t think beyond the physical plain._ **

“It would make things a lot easier if I knew who I was talking to,” he bit back, glaring with all his might at the flames around him. He got a dark, humorless chuckle in response. He wouldn’t deny it was a chilling sounds.

**_You know what I am, or you wouldn’t have called me. That is all you need to know._ **

Thorin gritted his teeth, not enjoying this obvious game. He pressed on.

“Call it a mortal trait, but I believe in looking a man in the eye before I make a contract with him.”

The flames brightened violently around him, a show of power and temper.

**_But I am not a man._ **

Thorin could feel the revulsion in the words, as if being a human was the worst punishment in the world. He couldn’t blame him if he did. Humans were a vile species as a whole with very few redeeming qualities.

“Which is why I insist on seeing you with my own eyes. If you can’t grant me that, I won’t make a contract with you.”

The flames flickered again, but it was softer, contemplative. Thorin watched them part for just a second before quickly reforming, closing the circle he was in once more. A short man with curly hair stood in front of him, green eyes unnaturally bright.

“ ** _Very well. We’ll play by your rules. For now,_** ” the man conceded, watching him with eye sharper than a hawk. It took all Thorin had to not look away, to not show any weakness. The creature smirked, seeming to sense his struggle anyway.

“You are smaller than I expected.”

It was a distraction, a way to keep the conversation away from him. It worked, to an extent.

“ ** _Again, you mortals in your arrogance. Power does not need to be giant. Small works just as well, if not better when dealing with your enemies._** ”

“And can you do it? Take care of your enemies?”

The creature’s smirk turned nasty, showing off sharp teeth hidden behind plump lips.

“ ** _For the right price_**.”

Thorin frowned. He heard that demons did nothing for free. He was prepared for such things. He fished into his pocket and pulled out a sack filled tight with gold coins. He threw it at the demon’s feet, watching as the contents spilled from the top and decorated the floor.

“There is more where that came from, if you do what I want.”

The man didn’t even take the time to study the pile before him, simply waving his hand and the coins fell into the flames.

“ ** _I have no use for gold, Thorin Oakenshield. My price is something far more precious._** ”

 “What then?”

Suddenly the demon was standing right before him, moving too fast for Thorin’s eyes to track. He looked up at him with those hauntingly green eyes, his smirk just as dastardly as before, before his shut them. Thorin watched as he inhaled deeply, obviously enjoying whatever it was he smelled. When he opened his eyes again there was a hunger in his gaze, animalist and terrible.

“ ** _Your soul_**.”

Thorin didn’t know how to answer that. He wasn’t a particularly religious sort of man, but he knew the importance of a human soul. It wasn’t something you bartered away on a whim, like gold lost in a game of cards. It was far to pure for such things.

“ ** _Yes, the purest substance in this world. Even those tainted by darkness posses a purity we demons lack. It’s addicting, once you get a taste of it,_** ” the demon explained, licking his lips.

“To give you my soul would be to abandon my humanity,” Thorin replied, suddenly very uncertain.

The demon gave him a mocking smile.

“ ** _You abandoned your humanity the moment the fire touched your home._** ”

Memories sprang to life before him, horrible memories of death and fire.

“ ** _The screams of your family, perishing in the flames. Can you see them, Thorin Durin? Your mother, trapped and burning? Your sister, dying of hunger? Your father, succumbing to madness?_** ”

“Stop it!”

The memories faded, but the pain lingered.

“ ** _I could help you_** _,_ ” the demons voice was now soft and gentle, like a summer breeze kissing his cheeks. “ ** _Say the word, and I will fix all the wrongs in your life. The man you want to suffer most in this world cannot hide from me. I can end your pain_**.”

The thought of it all being gone was tempting, so very, very tempting. He looked down at the demon before him and saw only the truth in his eyes. He wasn’t lying to him. He would give him what he wanted.

“What’s your name, then?”

The demon smiled at him, tilting his head to peek at him beneath his bangs.

“ ** _I am known by many things. It’s up to you to decide what you wish to call me._** ”

Thorin nodded.

“Bilbo, then. Take my contract and my soul is yours.”

Bilbo nodded, his eyes dancing with dark magic. He stood on his toe and pressed himself close to Thorin. His lips hovered just above his.

“ ** _As you wish, Master._** ”

He kissed him and Thorin felt his fate sealed.

He had no regrets.


	26. BomburxFamily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bombur woke to the smell of pancakes.

He woke to a cold bed and the smell of pancakes wafting in the air. Chocolate chip and strawberries if he wasn’t mistaken. Bombur managed to roll himself out of the soft mattress and pile of blankets, grunting slightly when his feet hit the floor. Though the only evidence of that was the sensation of the wood chilling his tender feet. He could no longer see over his belly at his toes below, though his children often assured him they were there.

 _I’ll start the gym tomorrow_ , he promised himself, just like he did everyday. It was a silly little mantra that he didn’t both worrying over. He was fine with being heavy set. It suited him well.

He pulled on his robe and following the mouthwatering scent to it’s origin ended up in the kitchen. His wife, dressed in her own red robe with her blond locks pulled up in a messy bun was standing in front of the stove, casually flipping pancakes while holding a baby at her hip. It was the most beautiful sight Bombur ever day.

“Good morning, love,” he greeted, pressing a whiskery, but tender kiss to her cheek. She giggled at the tinkling sensation, turning to beam a wide smile at her husband.

“Good morning to you, too. I hope you’re hungry,” she teased, flipping her current pancake to an impressive height before catching it again. Bombur chuckled as he went to sit down with the rest of his children.

The six tykes were all in various degrees of awake, some giving up entirely and just placing their heads on the wood and snoring contently between the cereals and fruit.

“You would think we don’t send them to bed on time,” he laughed, pulling one of his daughter’s red braids out of her leftover cereal.

“They get it from your side of the family,” Hina dryly remarked, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Bofur could sleep through World War III with enough beer in him.”

Bombur didn’t deny that. His side of the family loved things in excess. Food, beer, friends, and sleep to name a few. If his kids took after him in that remark, he wasn’t complaining. There were worst things they could be doing.

“Papa, papa!”

His attention was grabbed by one of his younger sons, who was bouncing excitedly in his booster seat.

“Yes, darling?”

“It’s sunny today!”

Bombur looked out the window, and sure enough the morning sun was shining brightly. Not a trace of clouds or rain that had pestered them for weeks before.

“So it is!”

The boy, now standing in his seat so he could look out the window properly, beamed at his father.

“Can we catch fishes? And plant flowers?”

Bombur chuckled, reaching out to pinch his cheek with fondness. The little boy giggled and squealed, pulling away with delight.

“That’s sounds like a fine idea. Perhaps your mama will pack us a picnic and we can make a day of it?”

He seemed to say the magic word, as each of his kids lifted their head and looked at him with sleepy eyes.

“Picnic?”

“Can we drive down to the lake? It has better fish.”

“Can we swim?!”

“I’m going to go get my stuff!”

Suddenly the room was full of motion as the children tripped over themselves to go get ready, laughing and cheering at the while. Hina sighed, shaking her head fondly.

“Now you’ve done it. You won’t finish breakfast before they’ll be pulling you out the door.”

Bombur shrugged, grabbing a piece of toast from one of the plates set out.

“I don’t mind. They’ll have fun. Plus, if they’re too busy catching fish and frogs, that means we can sit together alone for awhile. I think it’s time I took my wife out for a picnic.”

Hina blushed, but had a wide smile on her face. She carefully adjusted the baby at her hip and gave him a coy little wink.

“I better go get my sundress on.”

Bombur grinned widely as she walked away, a little swing in her hips. It was shaping up to be a good day.


	27. Fili/Kili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had his doubts.

It was the perfect day, in Fili's humble opinion. The sun was out after weeks of rain, casting it's warm glow on the brilliant green foliage of summer. A pleasant breeze danced on the air, cooling you just enough to be comfortable without an extra coat. And most of all, he had no responsibilities for the day, having gleefully delegated them to others so he might enjoy the weather. He deserved it.

"Silver piece for your thoughts," Kili wondered sleepily, his head resting on Fili's stomach.

The blond dwarf smirked, carding a finger through his brothers hair.

"Just thinking what a perfect day this is. And how glad I am not having to spend it indoors tending to the kingdom."

Kili peeked one eye open, giving him a mischievous look.

"What a lazy king you are! Shirking your duties just so you can take a nap."

Fili blanched at the title, still used to it being used to in reference to his uncle. He felt far too young and naive to be king.

Kili seemed to pick up on his thoughts, as he always did. Propping himself up on his elbows, his expression turned from mischievous to unamused quite quickly.

"Stop it," he scolded. "You are already a good king, and in the years to come you'll be a great one. Besides, Thorin will be very upset if he has to leave Bilbo and the Shire to come back here and take the crown just because you think you aren't good enough."

Fili sighed, knowing he spoke the truth. That didn't mean his doubts were fully laid to rest though.

"It was so much easier when all we had to worry about was the next day. Being a prince in exile was a challenge, but I think I prefer it to what we have now. Is that wrong of me?"

"Of course not," Kili scoffed, lying back down and staring at the sky. "In exile no one was trying to stab you in the back to steal your gold, and the Royal title was more a rallying cry of our people. There was no administration, no great amount of politics, just honest hard work and loyalty. You'd be a fool not to miss easy times."

That reassured him, even if it was just a bit. He didn't think he would ever fully get over his self doubt, but having Kili by his side helped.

"No thinking of kingly things today," his brother declared, nudging him in the side with his sharp elbow. "It's our day off. Enjoy it!"

Fili chuckled and resettled himself so he was once again lying comfortably in the grass.

"As the Consort commands."


	28. Bilbo/Dwalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt his naked skin against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mature reading ahead!

He felt his breath, hot and wet, panting at his neck. The sound of his grunts echoed in his ear, raw, primal. Bilbo felt his desire spike at the sound, answering his grunts with a lurid groan of his own.

Dwalin snarled, hands reaching and groping as he held him close. Bilbo let him lead, the overwhelming scent of an alpha in rut seducing him into submission. He was desperate with need, but his mate was more than happy to meet it.

He felt his large, calloused hands traveling up his chest, ending just below his neck. With a strength far outmatch Bilbo's own, the dwarf pulled his hobbit lover up so they were pressed, back to front, never missing stride. Bilbo leg his own hands wander behind him, fingers wrapping around braids and beard.

"Tell me who you belong to," Dwalin demanded, gnawing on his ear. Bilbo shuddered at the sensation, it almost being too much to bare. "Who is your alpha?!"

Bilbo whined as each word was accompanied by a particularly strong thrust.

"Y-yours! Y-you are my alpha! Only you," he answered, his words coming out desperate with his pants.

That seemed to please Dwalin, who sped up his pace. Bilbo felt his pleasure climb and climb, getting ever closer to the edge.

Behind him he felt his lover stiffen, hips snapping out in a stuttering pace. That was the push he needed, and Bilbo felt himself fall off that edge into a pool of exquisite pleasure.

They collapsed in a sweaty heap, their breaths coming in short gasps.

Bilbo wasn't sure when, but at some point Dwalin readjusted them so they were laying on their side, his front melded to his back, still connected from their pleasure.

"I didn't hurt you," he heard Dwalin tiredly wonder, lazy kissed being peppered down his neck. Bilbo smiled lazily, eyes half shut as he felt sleep coming for him.

"No. It was wonderful," he replied. He felt Dwalin's chest puff with alpha pride at Bilbo's words. The little omega hid a fond smile, nestling down into the pillows.

A hand snaked down his front, stopping to cup the gentle swell of his stomach.

"And the babe?"

Bilbo laid his own hand on top of his alphas, thumb circling comfortingly.

"The babe is fine. Didn't even stir in all the excitement."

Dwalin hummed, obviously relieved. He continued to give him lazy kisses. On his neck, on his ear, his cheek. It would surprise many how affectionate the great dwarvish warrior could be. Not Bilbo though. He was secretly glad though. Only he got to see this side of the alpha. It was special.

"It won't be long now," he whispered, leaning his head back so he could see his lover. Dwalin was looking at his stomach with such a loving expression that Bilbo felt his heart melt.

"Aye," the dwarf agreed, rubbing the swell gently. "Not long."

"Have you thought of any names? Tradition says it's the Alpha's choice."

Dwalin sighed, letting his head rest on Bilbo's shoulder.

"Bél, for a girl."

"And a boy?"

He felt Dwalin hesitate behind him. Concerned his twisted his upper body so that he could look at him, only to see a familiar sadness in his eyes.

"For a boy," he answered, not quite looking Bilbo in the face, "Thorin."

A familiar ache settled in Bilbo's heart, the loss still a tender wound. The thought of naming their child after him though helped soothe the hurt.

He gave Dwalin a soft, bittersweet smile.

"Thorin is a perfect name."


	29. Nori/Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur forgot.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

“No. I think I’m lost. Though I can’t be sure?”

“How can you not be sure? You either know where you are or you don’t.”

“That’s just it though. I can’t remember if I know where I am or not. In fact, I can’t remember anything.”

“Should I call someone?”

“Probably. But I can’t remember if I know anyone.”

“That’s fair I guess. Do you at least know your name?”

“It starts with a B, maybe. For some reason I can only think of the animal gopher right now. Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious. Look, why don’t I call security and we’ll see if we can’t sort something out.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you!”

“Yeah, sure. Wait here.”

“What’s your name?”

“Nori.”

xxx

“You’re back.”

“Yes, I wanted to thank you for helping me.”

“It’s no big deal. It broke up the monotony of my day.”

“Well, thank you anyway.”

“Where you able to remember anything after the police took you?”

“No, but I did learn something. My name is Bofur, which rhymes with gopher. So there is one mystery solved. We still don’t know anything else.”

“A name’s a good start. Can’t be too many Bofur’s in the phonebook. I’m sure you’ll find someone in no time.”

“I hope so. It’s incredibly lonely, not having anyone to think of.”

“Well, you thought of me, didn’t you? I might just be some guy who juggles on the street corner for spare change, but it’s better than nothing.”

“You’re right. Thank you again.”

xxx

“I brought you coffee.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“You always look so tired when I come to visit. I thought the caffeine might give you a boost.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just that you work hard.”

“Eh, forget it. I know I look a mess sometimes. It isn’t easy making a living off of the kindness of others.”

“Have you considered lighting them on fire? That might draw in more of a crowd.”

“I tried once. Apparently you need a license for that sort of thing and it’s too much of a hassle to get it. For now, I’ll stick to boring old knives.”

“With such a boring act no wonder you don’t make much.”

“Fuck off.”

xxx

“I’ve remembered something. I don’t like apples. I hate the smell, the taste, the way the feel, and look. They’re just all around an unpleasant fruit.”

“Then what do you like?”

“Pineapples.”

“Would that be irony or poetic justice?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But you can explain it more over lunch?”

“Are you asking me out? Like on a date?”

“A date or just two friends spending time together.”

“Are we friends?”

“Oh, definitely. In fact, you’re my oldest friend. I can’t remember a time without you in my life!”

“Har-har-har. You’re paying for lunch and I’m getting dessert.”

“I wouldn’t dream of skipping dessert.”

xxx

“I’ve been thinking a lot about a fat man with red hair.”

“Saying you’ve been thinking of another man isn’t the kind of thing you tell your boyfriend after sex.”

“I think he might be my brother.”

“Even worse.”

“Not now! But, recently. I think his name also has a B in it and that he makes things for a living. Toys or maybe buildings.”

“Have you told the police working on your case?”

“Should I? For all I know I could be thinking of Santa in his younger years and making all this up. I don’t want to give them a false lead.”

“Don’t be stupid. We’ll go tomorrow and let them know. Any lead is a good lead.”

“You’ll come with me?”

“Of course.”

…

“Thank you.”

xxx

“I have a brother named Bombur, and a cousin named Bifur. They live in London and have been looking for me for almost seven months.”

“That's good.”

“They gave me an address and a number to call. Though I think the police have already contacted their guys in London.”

“Great. So now you can start getting your old life back on track.”

…

“I don’t want my old life back.”

“What?”

“I want things to stay the way they are now. I want to wake up next to you and have coffee. I want to visit it you while you busk on the street. I want to fix things around the building for extra cash. I don’t want any of this to change.”

“Things have to change. That’s not a bad thing.”

“My old life didn’t have you in it. I don’t want to go back to that.”

“Silly. Do you think I would let you disappear without taking me with you?”

“You’ll stay?”

“Until the end.”


	30. Kili/Multi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three people he loved, and one who loved him back.

1\. Tauriel

They met on a playground after school one day. He saw he swinging on the swing set, her long, impossibly red hair flying behind her like a banner. She swung higher and higher, far higher than he could ever get on his own. She let go. For a moment, she hung in mid air and Kili was sure she would be lost in the stars. Gravity, unfortunately, grabbed hold of her again and pulled her back to the earth below. She landed with an unearthly grace, a wild smile on her face. It was then that Kili knew he loved her.

“Why do you swing so high?”

Her wild smile fell behind a stone mask. Kili hated that. He wanted to see her smile again.

“I want to touch the stars.”

Kili looked up at the blue sky. It was hours yet until nightfall. He told her as much.

“I don’t care. If I swing high enough day and night won’t matter. I’ll be up there, with them.”

To Kili it sounded like she meant someone in particular, not just the cold light of heavens. He wanted to ask her more about it, but then his mother called for him. It was time to go home. He gave her a small smile and ran off.

The next day he went back, hoping to see her again. He didn’t. He never did again.

 

2\. Dwalin

He had long since forgotten the red haired girl who wanted to touch the stars. She was more of a dream now. He did, however, remember the feelings she invoked. Only because now he felt them when he looked at a man who was as close to him as his uncle. They were also greater.

Dwalin was everything he thought a man ought to be. Strong, silent, surly, and sure. He longed to be closer to him, to keep feeling what he felt and to see if those feelings were returned.

His mother teased him, saying he was like a puppy following after an old hound dog. Kili would just scowl at her. She didn’t understand what he was feeling. She didn’t know the way Dwalin made him feel with just a single look.

“Leave the kid alone,” the older man would grunt, ruffling Kili’s hair with affection. “Rather have him trailing after me than someone like Nori. At least I can show him what it’s like to be a man.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Ori would chime in, smiling softly as he laced his fingers between Dwalin’s. “It’s also good practice when we have kids of our own.”

It hurt more than Kili would admit to see Dwalin act like he did with Ori. He wanted him to be that way with him. But he never was.

 

3\. Fili

Loving Fili was the both the easiest and hardest thing he ever had ever done. He was told from birth to love his brother, to care for his brother, to treasure his brother. And he did. But he was sure his mother never meant for it to be this way. Not to think of kissing him, holding him, loving him in a way that only lovers could. Not siblings.

Fili knew it as well. When they were younger, they indulged in their pleasures. They shared kisses in the dark, sweet and chaste, and shared the same bed when they were lonely. Time, however, crept up on them. Suddenly they were too old to be sharing a room. Their mother moved Fili into the guest bedroom downstairs and made sure they didn't sneak out together. Fili started pushing away, spending more time outside their home than in it. He made friends who were different than Kili’s and even brought a few girls home. Kili bore it, holding out hope that one day he would come back to him.

The day he left for university, Kili went to hug him but Fili stopped him with a handshake instead. That was when he knew he couldn’t love him anymore. Not like he wanted to.

 

4\. Thorin

Thorin held him like he was afraid Kili would disappear. Kili never told him not to. He felt safe in his arms.

He had always been apart of his life. As a child, he was the guiding figure he needed where his own father fell short. When he grew, so did their relationship. It morphed and changed into friendship, respect, and love. Kili felt beyond blessed to have it. Though he still had trouble believing that Thorin wanted him as well.

“You know I love you, right?”

Thorin shifted, his blue eyes looking down in Kili’s brown ones. They were deep and so sad, speaking of a life time of hardship that Kili would never truly know. He wanted to erase the pain there.

The young man smiled, raising his head just enough so his lips could cover Thorin’s. As he parted he saw that the shadows had vanished just a bit from his gaze. For now, it was enough.

“Yes. I know.”


	31. Bilbo/Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare woke Bilbo.

Bilbo woke to his heart fluttering wildly against his ribs. His eyes scanned the darkness, frantic and sure there was some sort of danger lurking in the darkness. Nothing was there.

Just a dream then.

With a soft sigh, he tried to relax against the pillows of his bed but his mind was full of what he just saw in his sleep. Fire and death. The worst thing was that it wasn’t a fantasy. A choked sob bubbled up in his throat and he couldn’t stop it from escaping.

A body shifted beside him.

“Bilbo?”

Thorin’s voice was rough with sleep, but awake nonetheless. Bilbo felt a hand blindly grope at his arm before large, calloused fingers threaded through his own. The feeling of the warmth against his palm helped ground him.

“What’s wrong?”

Bilbo let out a shuddering breath, trying to gain some semblance of control. Thorin’s free arm came to wrap around his torso and pulled him close. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and saw the other’s man face as clear as day. His eyes were bright with worry and his lips were drawn into a frown.

Bilbo gave him a shaky smile, his own hand coming up to rest on his cheek.

“A dream. Nothing more.”

Thorin’s frown deepened.

“A dream is something you never wish to wake from. That was not this.”

The hobbit dropped his eyes, staring at the pale skin of the dwarf’s neck peeking through his nightgown. A silvery, ropey scar hugged the junction between his throat and shoulder, before disappearing down his back. In his dream it had been cut fresh, red blood pouring out of it.

“A nightmare then.”

He didn’t deny Thorin’s conclusion, just pressed closer to him.

The dwarf didn’t press him to talk further, he never did. Nightmares weren’t a foreign thing to them, both losing sleep because of them. You don’t go through what they did unscathed. It was the price for the glory they obtained.

They lay together in the dark for awhile, long enough for the dark to gradually changed into light, the morning sun shining into their room. Bilbo finally spoke.

“Promise me one thing,” he began, his voice quiet and solemn.

“Anything you desire I will give.”

He looked up at the dwarf, searching for any sign of lies in his eyes. There was nothing, just raw honesty. If Bilbo asked for it, Thorin would drain the seas and collect every grain of sand left behind. His love for Bilbo made him capable of all things. It soothed his heart knowing that.

“When you die,” he continued, though his words were stilted with thick emotion. “Promise me that I will be by your side and quick to follow. Never leave me alone.”

Thorin watched him, a deepness in his gaze that had Bilbo’s breath catching in his throat. The dwarf smiled a sad smile. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. As he pulled away he whispered his answer.

“Anything you desire.”

**Author's Note:**

> Have any ideas for future stories, pairings, AUs, etc.,? I take requests and read them all. Thanks for reading!


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